


The Happily-Ever-After Business

by mambo



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Alternate Universe - Wedding Planner, M/M, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Punk Bucky Barnes, Tattoos, Wedding Planning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-25
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-11-04 15:08:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 23,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10993428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mambo/pseuds/mambo
Summary: After planning perfect weddings for New York's elite, wedding planner Steve Rogers is ready to find love for himself.But he didn't anticipate falling in love with the tattoo artist who works down the street.





	1. Lilies

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [The Happily-Ever-After Business](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11918256) by [sashach](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sashach/pseuds/sashach)



> Hi all! Thanks for clicking the link to this fanfic. This was inspired by a series of headcanons I posted to my [Tumblr ](http://whtaft.tumblr.com/post/151307281204/please-consider-steve-the-really-uptight) back in October. At the request of the most perfect [misspaperjoker](http://misspaperjoker.tumblr.com/), I am writing those headcanons into a fic!
> 
> This fic will be will work pretty similarly to my fic [Kiss the Cook](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4651146/chapters/10609803); meaning, it will be done as a series of slice of life scenes that aren't terribly plot heavy. It will also be very, _very_ fluffy. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> I also want to thank the incredibly talented [uglywabbit](uglywabbit.tumblr.com) for the beautiful art that is at the start of this chapter! You're incredible, friend!

[Art by uglywabbit](https://uglywabbit.tumblr.com/post/151523999407/please-consider-steve-the-really-uptight#notes)

“I just fell in love,” Steve says, plopping into the high-backed office chair behind his desk.

“Bad move,” America says, dropping a paper bag with what may be his lunch onto his desk. “Kate and I went out for lunch. We brought you a boring caesar wrap because you’re a boring person.”

“Thank you for the wrap,” Steve says, opting to ignore the latter half of her statement, mostly because the boring thing is pretty true.

“So what breed is it?” America asks.

“Huh?” Steve says, pulling the wrap out of the bag. There’s also a bag of Sun Chips in there, which are his favorite. He smiles.

“The dog you fell in love with,” America says.

“Why would you think I fell in love with a dog?” Steve asks.

She pulls her iPhone out of her back pocket, spends a few seconds tapping, then holds it out to Steve. “What’s this?” he asks, taking it.

“You’ll see.”

He looks down to see a photo album with the title “photos of dogs steve sent me”.

“Touché,” he says, handing the phone back to her. “But why save them?”

“Blackmail,” she says as she takes the phone back. She shrugs. “They may also be pretty cute.” Steve chuckles. “So was it a dog?” she asks.

“ _No_ ,” Steve says, “it’s—“

There’s a knock on the door and Kate pops her head in. “Steve, you have a visitor,” she says.

“I do?” Steve asks. There wasn’t anyone on the calendar for this afternoon — he didn’t know how long his morning meetings, including his meeting at the tattoo parlor, would go — and he was looking forward to hunkering down and getting some work done. That being said, there’s always some bride or groom or member of the wedding party or in-law who will say they _need_ Steve and they _need_ him now, and he tries his best to be accommodating. There’s a reason he can charge people the prices he does; he is the best in the business.

“Yeah,” Kate says.

Steve looks down at his wrap and sighs. “Let them in,” he says, pushing it to the far side of his desk and standing up. He loves being a wedding planner, but there are moments he wishes he didn’t go into a business where people expect him to be at their beck and call all day and night. He’s not entirely sure what that business would be, but he’s sure there’s one out there somewhere and he should’ve gone into it.

Kate pulls away and he can hear her say, “This way.”

The door opens again and there’s Bucky.“Hey,” Bucky says with a little smile, almost a smirk.

He doesn’t have to say, ‘I’m in love with _this guy_ ’ to America because he’s pretty sure that one look at Steve lets her know. He glances at America who gives him a look, as if to say, ‘Him?!?!’

Steve knows. He didn’t mean to fall in love with the tattoo artist from down the street. But one meeting with the most talented tattoo artist in Brooklyn was enough for love.

Well, maybe not _love_ , per se. But infatuation. The kind of infatuation Steve always prided himself on staying away from. But here he is, staring at Bucky Barnes and wishing that he could take him on a couples cruise through Norway, or something just as sickeningly domestic and lovey.

At first glance, Bucky Barnes is not the kind of guy you’d expect Steve to go for in the first place. Steve looks put together at all times, even if he doesn’t _feel_ put together all that often. He wears button-down shirts and khaki pants, has an iPad with four different note-taking apps practically glued to his hip, and he doesn’t swear. (Well, most of the time, and never in front of clients.) Bucky, on the other hand, has at least one tattoo with the word ‘Hell’ in it visible on his person, and who knows what his shirt hides. He is also standing in Steve’s office with his hair pulled back in a messy bun, wearing a grey Radiohead t-shirt so faded that you can practically see his nipple piercings through it. He’s got pair of jeans with a hole in the knee on, and Steve thinks that hole came from actual wear, instead of being bought pre-torn. Perhaps the most endearing part of the ensemble is Bucky’s pair of scuffed Doc Martens, one of which is held together on the back heel with duct tape.

He looks horribly out of place in Steve’s office, which is immaculate, and decorated in white and chrome. It’s almost sterile in its professionalism, and while Steve’s staff and clients brings it to life, he can’t help but like the juxtaposition of Bucky Barnes’ tattoos with the white vase of daisies on a side table, which Steve’s staff replaces every three days, on the dot.

“Hi Mr. Barnes—“ Steve starts.

“Bucky,” Bucky gently corrects with a smile.

“Bucky,” Steve says, feeling his cheeks heat up. “Hi.”

“Think we covered that,” Bucky says. America snorts.

“Oh, uh, sorry!” Steve tries smiling as best he can, then gestures to America. “This is America Chavez, one of my assistants. She’s a lifesaver.”

“Hey,” America says, cool as a cucumber.

“Hey,” Bucky says, shooting her a grin. He turns back to Steve. “And don’t apologize,” he says, waving a hand. “I’m just here because you forgot this at the studio,” he says, walking to Steve’s desk and handing him his hanky.

“Oh gosh,” Steve says, taking it back. “It must’ve slipped out of my pocket.”

Of all the things that could’ve slipped out of Steve’s pocket, he’s not happy that it’s his embarrassing monogrammed handkerchief. It came from a set that a client gave him as gift after he successfully pulled off a last-minute wedding for them. The handkerchiefs seemed like a little much, but he thought it would be wasteful not to use them, so he does.

“Gave me an excuse to come see your digs,” Bucky says, hooking his fingers into the belt loops of his pants. “Been down the street from you since we opened but never bothered to stop in.”

“You’re always welcome here!” Steve says, maybe a little too quickly.

“Smooth,” America mutters under her breath.

“Thanks, that’s uh…” He pauses, looks down at Steve’s desk for a second, then looks back up. “Thanks for sending the work my way. We really appreciate it.”

“It’s only because the work you did for the Rockwell couple was so outstanding! I had to meet you after that,” he says. “And we get a surprising amount of requests for couple’s tattoos. It’s a bit of a fad right now.”

“Well, I’m still not sure how I’d feel about gettin’ a tattoo to commemorate a relationship because those, y’know, end all the time, but I’m glad for the business.”

“Shh,” Steve says, “In this building marriages last forever and all love is everlasting.”

Bucky grins. “Was that a joke you just cracked?” he asks.

Steve shrugs. “I’m capable,” he says.

“You’re a man of many layers,” Bucky says, blue eyes flicking to Steve’s and holding his gaze for a long moment. “Anyhow, gotta get back. Have a big appointment this afternoon — customer wants to finish up his full back tattoo today so it’s healed up before his big trip to Cancun next month.” Bucky rolls his eyes. “I don’t mind finishing it, but I’m not sure a full-back _Baywatch_ tattoo is gonna impress a lot of people, but you never know.”

“ _Baywatch_?” Steve asks.

“Not even the original _Baywatch_. Honestly, I think that if you wanna rock David Hasselhoff on your body you should go for it. I’m talkin’ the 2017 film with a 12% on Rotten Tomatoes.”

“No,” America says, eyes wide and horrified.

Bucky raises his eyebrows. “There’s no accountin’ for taste,” he says, shaking his head.

“Guess not,” America says, smirking at Steve.

“Anyhow, don’t be a stranger,” Bucky says, waving as he turns around and heads out of Steve’s office.

America, at least, waits until Bucky is out of earshot to start laughing. “Dude does _not_ seem like your type,” she says when she gets control of herself.

“How would you know anything about my ‘type’?” Steve asks, frustratedly sitting down in his chair. He opens up his laptop and pretends to check his email, but really opens up a window and searches for information on Bucky’s tattoo parlor.

> _Sergeant Ink Tattoos_
> 
> _Hours:_
> 
> _Tuesday - Saturday, 11 am - 8 pm._
> 
> _To make an appointment call (929) 555-9750 or email_ [ _sergeantink@gmail.com_ ](mailto:sergeantink@gmail.com)
> 
> _Walk-ins accepted when there is availability_

America shrugs. “You’re so squeaky clean,” she says. “I expected someone wearing a polo or who works at the Guggenheim.”

“His shop is _immaculate_ ,” Steve says.

“Of course it is. Tattoo parlors that aren’t get shut down real quick. You gonna let some place that can’t bother to clean up stick a needle on your body? No way.”

“And creating tattoos is art. _Permanent_ art. And anyhow, my type is… nice people,” Steve finishes, feeling like a real dweeb. He looks down at his computer mostly so he doesn’t have to see how America reacts to that.

America knocks into his side a little. “That seems in-character,” she says. “And he seems like a nice guy.” Steve smiles and ducks his head. “So what’re you gonna do next?” she asks.

“Well,” Steve says with a sigh, “I guess I’m gonna have to get a tattoo.”

America is quiet for a moment, then says, “You’re terrified of needles, Steve. Remember when you had to get your blood drawn?”

“I’m not afraid of anything,” he says, looking up at her. America rolls her eyes. “Besides, I’m in the happily-ever-after business. Time to start working on my own.” He winces a little at his own bad line.

“Cheesy,” America says.

“That bad?” Steve asks, frowning.

“It is,” America says, then shrugs. “But it’d make a good catchphrase for the website.”

Better than nothing, Steve thinks. Could be worse.


	2. Peonies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky begins work on Steve's tattoo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out for [birobots](birobots.tumblr.com) for coming up with the Central Park idea! For a reference photo of Sergeant Ink, see [this photo](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/82/91/b7/8291b708b42c687aa7e22d3898757d58.jpg).

Steve takes one deep breath. Then another.

“Are you alright?” Bucky asks, looking at him from behind a pair of thick-framed glasses as he pulls on a blue plastic glove. He’s sitting on a black swivel stool with wheels, prepping for their first appointment.

Steve nods. “Yeah, of course,” he says. He tries to smile, but it probably looks more like a grimace. It’s a more honest description, but not exactly what he was going for.

“Nervous?” Bucky asks.

“No,” Steve lies.

Bucky pauses, looks intently at Steve. “ _Nervous_?” he asks again, pointed.

It takes Steve a moment to work up the courage, but he nods. “A little,” he admits.

“It’s fine to be nervous,” Bucky says. “It means that it can’t be worse than you’re thinkin’ it is. But are you sure that you wanna do the full session? We could start with somethin’ small, just get you used to the process. Most people don’t come in for the first time ready to work on a full back tattoo.”

“But you blocked the time out,” Steve says.

Bucky shrugs. “Wouldn’t be the first time I had some extra time in the afternoon, and havin’ an opportunity to look over the books is always better than havin’ someone barf in my chair.”

“I’m not gonna barf!” Steve says, stomach making an audible gurgle.

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “Are you sure?” he asks. “I can bring in a bucket. We have several buckets.”

“Are you always going to question my every statement?” Steve asks, crossing his arms and raising his nose like a petulant child.

“When you look like you’re ‘bout to chuck I always will.”

Maybe if ‘chuck’ were replaced with just about any other word in the English language the sentiment could almost be romantic. There’s something about the word _always_ that makes Steve think of bells ringing and birds singing and everlasting love, but that may just be the wedding planner in him taking over. He’s designed wedding invites with the word ‘always’ on them, created centerpieces with little silver ‘always’ decorations hidden inside the flowers. So, of course Bucky isn’t talking about bells ringing and birds singing and everlasting love. Bucky is talking about throwing up. So while it would’ve been nice to dreamily look into Bucky’s eyes and ask, “Promise?” in a breathy voice, this isn’t the moment for that.

Steve wonders if there will ever be a moment for that.

Since Steve first came to Bucky with the idea of a tattoo they’ve been exchanging professional and business-like emails to discuss the tattoo design and to schedule some time to work on it. They met up once to go over the final design in Bucky’s shop, and while the moment would’ve been perfect — Bucky said he was done for the day after their meeting — Steve totally chickened out on asking Bucky to get coffee after. He thought he’d gird his loins and maybe ask Bucky after the first session, but now that he’s here, sitting in the red chair of Bucky’s work station, he’s losing his resolve.

Sergeant Ink is beautiful, and not what Steve expected from a tattoo parlor. The first time he walked in he nearly walked out, thinking he was in the wrong store. He expected a place filled with pin-up girl designs and checkerboard tile. Rather, there is something almost homey about Sergeant Ink. Of course, there’s a book filled with laminated pages at the front counter that includes pin-up girl designs, but the rest of the place looks more like it’s a lodge in Yellowstone National Park than a tattoo parlor. The floor is made from wood panel and the walls are exposed brick. The front desk is made of wood, as are the half-walls of the small private rooms where the actual tattooing and piercing gets done. There’s even a nice, red rug on the floor, which Steve thinks he’ll be spending a lot of time staring at in the coming weeks. The walls are covered in framed art, which Bucky explained was all done by staff members. Some are the more traditional kinds of tattoo designs that you would expect to see on the walls of a tattoo parlor, but some pieces are in oil or pastels, acrylic or pencil. They’re all beautiful. And each of the small rooms include a small TV, which Bucky says has Netflix so that people can be distracted while he’s working and not talk to him. It’s a beautiful shop, and if Steve was going to get a tattoo, he’d want to get one here.

He just never thought he’d actually be getting a tattoo when he first walked in.

But he really wants to take Bucky out for coffee.

“I’ll ask you another time, just to be sure. You ready for this?” Bucky asks.

Steve nods, full of resolve. He will get this tattoo, and at one of the sessions — and there will be many, if Bucky is to be believed — he will ask Bucky out.

He totally, definitely will.

“Let’s do this,” Steve says.

“Then Steve?” he asks.

“Yeah?” Steve says, perking up.

“I’m gonna need you to take off your shirt.”

— —

“And, we’re done,” Bucky says, putting his gear down on a nearby table and grinning. “See, that wasn’t too bad.”

Steve groans.

“C’mon, it was only three hours of having a motorized needle on your skin.”

Steve groans again.

“You wanna see how it looks?” Bucky asks.

Steve groans, but this time in affirmative.

Bucky shuffles around a bit. Steve closes his eyes, trying to focus on anything other than the burning sensation on his back. A few seconds later, Bucky is kneeling beside Steve, holding an iPad next to Steve’s face with a photo of the tattoo on it. “It’ll look a lot better with the colors, but I’m happy with how it is right now. I focused on the upper back, see here…” he says, as he gestures at Steve’s shoulder blades. “Next time I’ll fill in more of the detail down here.” He points to the small of Steve’s back.

Steve eyes fill with tears. It’s not from the pain.

“All of those flowers…” he says quietly, taking the tablet from Bucky’s hand. He looks up. “You did all the different kinds.”

“That’s uh, what we had talked about,” Bucky says. “Are you unhappy—“

“No!” Steve interrupts. Bucky nods. “No,” he adds again, quieter. “It’s just… these, the peonies, theywere my ma’s favorite.” He gestures to where the flowers are on the photo of his back.

Bucky is quiet for a moment. “Is that why you’re gettin’ this?” he asks.

Steve looks up at him with a sad smile. “We used to walk through Conservatory Garden together at least once a month. More, when more of the flowers were in bloom. She always knew a lot about flowers for someone who spent her whole life living in a city apartment and never had any kind of garden.”

“She taught you?” Bucky asks.

“That’s how I got into wedding planning, actually. I worked in flower arrangement after college. I did a lot of centerpieces for big events, mostly weddings.” He chuckles and blinks a few times to get control over the teary-eyed situation. “It all got out of hand, after that.”

“Wouldn’t call startin’ a successful business gettin’ out of hand,” Bucky says. He clears his throat. “You wanna hang out for a while? It usually does people some good to get some rest after a long session, and we’ve got snacks and stuff if you want ‘em. Plus, I can go over some aftercare instructions when you’re feelin’ a bit better. It’s always a bit of a shock the first time, but you did a good job. No cryin’, no twitchin’, and just the one break. Very impressive.”

“Don’t forget that I didn’t throw up,” Steve says. “It’s very important to me that you don’t forget that.”

“I’ll commit that to memory,” Bucky says, tapping his temple with his index finger. “Now c’mon, I’ll give you a lollipop or somethin’.”

“Just like the doctor’s office,” Steve says.

Bucky rolls his eyes. “I’m _much_ cuter than a doctor,” he says.

Steve blushes, but since he’s already been brave today, he just goes ahead and says, “Yeah, you are” like it’s nothing at all.


	3. Magnolias

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve's co-workers cheer Steve up after a bad day at work. It's a coincidence that Bucky shows up.

Steve slumps down, forehead resting on his desk.

“Why did I take this wedding?” he asks the empty room.

The empty room doesn’t answer.

He groans.

The fact of the matter is that the Johnstone-Levi wedding is a career-maker. Kensington Johnstone — like his name would suggest — is a New York socialite who has been in the society pages his whole life. Primrose Levi is a Los Angeles model who Johnstone met while on vacation in Hawaii with his fraternity brothers. She was modeling for a swim ware ad campaign of some kind and he came over to her with a Corona and his number.

It’s not exactly the fairy tale Steve dreamed of as a kid, but whatever works for them. They seem as happy as any couple with a wedding coming up in two weeks. The fact that Steve doesn’t see many couples who are particularly happy when their wedding is coming up in two weeks is just one of his job’s many quirks. There’s a lot of stress involved when you’re inviting half of New York City to your wedding.

Primrose is sweet and fashionable. She has excellent suggestions for the ceremony and it’s actually pretty nice to brainstorm ideas with someone who is up-to-date on current trends in the wedding industry and elsewhere. Plus, she and Kate get on well, and they always bring Steve a snack from wherever they went to get lunch.

It’s Kensington who is the problem.

Kensington Johnstone has been dragging Steve around the city, making him meet his groomsmen — aka: his fraternity brothers — at his favorite cigar club, and going to scotch tastings to see what would taste best at the wedding. Steve doesn’t even _like_ scotch, let alone have enough expertise to differentiate between eight similar-tasting high-end brands. He has a sommelier he works with on wine pairings and a bartender for other liquors, but Kensington only wants to work with Steve and won’t let him delegate. In fact, he just got off the phone with Kensington, who went on for _fifty minutes_ about whether or not they should ask the employees working the valet stand to wear cummerbunds that match the servers’ or if theirs should _not_ be metallic.

Steve had made the mistake of saying that the valet employees came from a different service than the servers, and a separate deal would have to be made with that service, and it could be difficult to make arrangements to have the cummerbunds — or anything else they would like them to wear outside of their typical uniforms — delivered to the service in time, which is why they went over uniforms for the valet employees prior to drafting their contract three months ago. It was a rookie mistake; Steve should’ve figured out a way to get the valet employees the damn cummerbunds, but it had been a frustrating day on a variety of levels and Kensington called four minutes before Steve was supposed to go home.

There’s a knock on his office door. Steve pops up with a start, not realizing that anyone else was stayed at the office besides himself. “Yeah?” he says, loud enough to be heard through the door.

The door opens. “Hey boss,” America says. “Let’s get a burger.”

“Why are you still here?” Steve asks. “It’s past six!” Everyone is supposed to go home at six. Unless there’s an emergency, Steve is the only one who works overtime.

“We waited so we could get burgers,” America says. “So get your ass out of that chair so we can go get burgers.”

“We?” Steve asks, furrowing his brow.

“Me, Kate and Scott, plus we called Sam and he’s coming.”

“You called… Sam?” Steve asks.

America nods. “Yes, and he’s waiting downstairs with his girlfriend.”

“Maria’s here?” Steve asks, perking up. “I haven’t seen Maria in _ages_.”

“Which is why you should get up and come downstairs so we can all get burgers together.”

“Oh!” Steve says, standing up. “Gimme just a second…” He grabs his cellphone and wallet from his desk. He knows he should take his computer home in case Kensington has another cummerbund issue, but he’s had a shitty enough day that he can go the thirteen hours between leaving work and coming back without it (plus, of course, he has his iPad at home in case anything goes terribly, terribly wrong). It’s sort of exhilarating to tell America that he’s ready to go without the laptop, which shows just how lame Steve is.

When he gets downstairs he gives Sam and Maria huge hugs. “I missed you!” he tells Maria, who laughs. She’s been traveling for work a lot; she does police de-escalation training all around the country. “And you!” he tells Sam after Sam nudges him in the side. “Even though I saw you this weekend.”

“Still see each other less than when we were roommates, so it hasn’t been enough,” Sam says and Steve grins.

“Thanks for coming,” he says. “I know it’s a hassle.”

Sam shrugs. “America called saying you were having a shit day. Can’t let my buddy have a shit day, can I? Plus, America says you’d pick up the tab.”

“Did she, now?” Steve asks, trying to catch America’s eye. America pretends to be engrossed in conversation with Scott. But Steve knows that she’s listening in.

“Aw, give her a break,” Sam says. Steve grins and bumps shoulders with Sam again. “She put all this together.”

“And you can’t let your very thoughtful assistant do all this work for you without considering a pay raise, right?” America adds.

“Hey, _I’m_ the one who called Sam!” Kate says.

Steve laughs. “Talk to me after the Johnstone-Levi wedding, okay?” he says. “I’ll be a different person after the Johnstone-Levi wedding.”

America rolls her eyes. “If Kenny calls me _one more time_ about getting magnolias for the centerpieces I swear…”

“Kenny?” Scott asks. “Didn’t he say he’d rather, and I’m quoting here, ‘I’d rather throw myself in front of a train like Anna Karenina then be called Kenny’?”

America levels Scott with an unimpressed look. “Your point?”

“You’re awesome,” Scott says. He pauses, grabs his phone from his pocket. “Hey, is it okay if my friend Luis and a couple of his work friends meet up with us at the burger place? They’re gonna get there about the same time we are.”

“Steve?” Kate asks.

“Sure,” Steve says, just feeling really grateful for his staff and friends right now.

“Awesome, I think it will be… four more, including Luis.”

“Is Luis the guy you brought to the staff holiday party?” Kate asks Scott, an unimpressed look on her face.

Steve brightens up. “We had the _best_ conversation on abstract expressionism,” he says.

“Yeah! That’s the guy.”

“Yeah, good, great,” America says, “but can we please go eat? Kenny has already wasted an hour of my dinnertime.”

They laugh and leave together.

— —

They go to a hip burger joint that America’s been to a few times with her young, hip friends and the host seats them right away, chatting with America. Steve sits on the end of the group, back to the restaurant door, next to the four open seats for Luis and his friends. Steve doesn’t have enough opportunities to talk about art history — which he majored in as an undergrad, with a double major in studio art — so he’s excited to have the opportunity to chat with another art lover.

“This seat taken?” a soft voice asks in his ear.

Steve flails in surprise.

“Woah there!” Bucky says, setting a hand down on Steve’s shoulder and patting it a few times. “If you wanna attack me it’s much better to concentrate your energy.”

“Steve’s not good with surprises,” Kate says as she and America chuckle.

“What were we saying about those raises?” Steve mutters; America just rolls her eyes. They’re both due for raises, anyway.

“Glad you made it!” Scott says with a goofy grin.

“Yeah, yeah, lots of foot traffic on the way here, you know? Thought we’d beat you but then we got stuck behind this group of tourists. They were real friendly, though, asked for a few restaurant recommendations and I think I sent them to the best place for tapas in the five boroughs,” Luis says, walking around the table and taking the seat next to Scott. “Hey Steve! Long time no see. You ever find someone to kiss under the mistletoe, huh? Like the holiday party?”

Steve blushes as Bucky slips into the seat next to him. “Oh, uh, no. I didn’t.”

“Big shame. I’m not into dudes, but if I were I’d be way into you. Something very innocent about your vibe with those khakis, right Bucky?”

“I dunno, you seen this guy’s pecs? Nothing innocent about those,” Bucky says, raising his eyebrows.

Steve crosses his arms over his chest while Natasha barks out a laugh. “It’s just my chest,” Steve mutters, unable to hide his blush.

Bucky knocks his shoulder into Steve. “We’re just kiddin’ around. It’s just hard not to admire your chest,” he says. Steve looks down. “You okay?”

Steve nods. “Yeah, just a tough day,” he says, looking up with a little smile. “Thanks for checking.”

“Sorry ‘bout your day, but it’s about to get a lot better,” he says. Bucky smiles, then grabs his menu. “You been here before?” he asks.

“No,” Steve says as Luis starts telling Scott a long story about his sister’s-nephew’s-cousin’s-best friend’s-grandson at a barbecue.

“You like boozy milkshakes? I’m obsessed with the grasshopper one here, because I’m secretly ninety years old or somethin’.”

“You look pretty good for ninety,” Steve says. “Grasshopper?”

“It’s a minty thing form the fifties,” Bucky says. “Doesn’t go with the burger at all.”

“It could go with a lamb burger,” Steve says. “Mint and lamb are traditional.”

Bucky shakes his head. “Can’t eat lamb; they’re too cute.”

“And cows aren’t?” Steve asks.

“My little sister didn’t collected stuffed cows when she was a kid. She had, I dunno, fifty stuffed sheep, all lined up on her bed and judging me with their lamby eyes whenever I ate lamb, which wasn’t that often, but it was still traumatic. I felt like I could feel their judgment down in the kitchen.”

Steve smiles, feeling that tingle in his stomach that he always seems to get when Bucky’s around. Now that he’s gotten over the initial shock of having Bucky there — and the embarrassment of having his pecs be a major topic of conversation — he’s just _excited_. They’re going to be able to have a whole conversation with each other without Steve’s work stress or a needle on Steve’s back; Steve couldn’t have asked for a better scenario. And if Bucky wants to talk about his childhood, that’s fine with Steve. He just wants to get to know Bucky.

“Sounds creepy,” Steve says.

“It was cute,” Bucky says.

“How old’s your sister?” Steve asks.

“She’s four years younger than I am, so 25. She’s working in a marine biology lab out in San Diego. Makes me feel like a real schmuck when I see what she’s doin’ with her life.”

“You’re an artist,” Steve says, feeling more protective than the situation probably warrants. “And you own your own successful business.”

Bucky looks up from his menu and smiles at Steve. “Thanks,” he says, quiet. “Now figure out what you wanna eat, Steve.” He gestures down to his menu.

Steve blushes, looking down at his unopened menu. “Sorry,” he says.

“No, no, don’t apologize,” Bucky says with a smile. “I just don’t want you to miss out. There’s a lot of great stuff on the menu.” Steve looks back up at Bucky and catches him… Checking him out? Maybe? But before Steve can really figure out what Bucky meant by that, Bucky just grins at him. “But no lamb burgers.”

“No lamb burgers,” Steve agrees, and gets back to studying the menu.

— —

The dinner goes well, but goes by way too quickly. It seems like it was only minutes between Bucky sitting down and the group getting up to leave. “I hadn’t realized that Luis’ friend worked with you,” Bucky says as they head towards the door.

“Scott’s been with us for a few months now. He does a lot of the labor-intensive stuff. Taking stuff to a location, toting it away, grabbing stuff from stores. He’s always moving around.”

Bucky nods. “How many employees do you have?” he asks.

“Seven full-time staffers, plus wedding-specific contracts that change with every venue. We’ll also take on an intern or two during the summers if there are interested parties.”

“That’s quite a business,” Bucky says.

“We’ve actually been thinking of expanding,” Steve says, holding the door open for Bucky. “We’ve gotten some requests from couples in Jersey that we’ve had to turn down, and even a few from Boston. If we had a few more staff members we could really expand where we work.”

“Gonna make an empire,” Bucky says.Steve chuckles. “Doubt it,” he says.

Bucky looks around them at their dispersing group of friends. Everyone is starting to say their goodbyes, but Steve doesn’t want to go, doesn’t want this time with Bucky to end. They so rarely get to speak without Steve being in terror and pain.

He looks to Bucky, who shoves his hands in the pockets of his jacket, shifts his weight from foot to foot. “Hey,” he says to Steve, “would you wanna—“

“Bucky!” Clint calls. “Let’s get the F train.”

Bucky frowns, then sighs. “Yeah, one second,” he says, looking over Steve’s shoulder at Clint. He looks back at Steve. “You take the F train?” he asks.

“No, I walk home. It’s only a few blocks.”

“Lucky,” Bucky says.

There’s a pause.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you at your next session,” Bucky says.

“Next week,” Steve says, playing it cool like he hasn’t been looking forward to it since their last session. He doesn’t like the process of getting the tattoo, but he loves the work Bucky’s done so far and he loves the time he gets to spend with Bucky.

“Good luck with the monster wedding,” Bucky adds.

“Thanks,” Steve says.

There’s a long pause.

“Alright,” Bucky says. “I should probably go.” He looks at Steve like he’s expecting him to say something.

“Yeah, it’s getting late.”

“Right. Late. Yeah.” He sighs. “I’ll go.”

“See you,” Steve says, and Bucky takes off.

He watches him and Clint walk off like the sap he is.

And then America pops up next to him. “Feel better?” she asks.

Steve smiles. “Yeah,” he says. “I do.”


	4. Daffodils

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve helps Bucky and Natasha liberate Bucky's cat from an ex-boyfriend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additional warnings for this chapter included in end note.

Steve can hear Bucky yelling from the other room, but can’t quite make out what it is that he’s saying. But he _can_ tell from the tone that he’s saying things that aren’t terribly kind.

“He’s in a custody battle,” Natasha says. She’s standing behind the wooden front desk of Sergeant Ink, typing something on the computer. She nodded at Steve when he came in for his appointment, but hasn’t so much as looked at him since then. She intimidates Steve a little, with her straight red hair and affinity for leather jackets that look like they cost more than his car. He also thinks that she can see right through his transparent crush on Bucky, which makes him nervous. Of course, his crush is obvious – Steve isn’t known for his tact or grace — but he doesn’t know whether she’ll tell Bucky about it. Or if she already has.

“Bucky has a kid?” Steve asks, a little shocked. That’s usually the sort of thing that comes up in conversation, and Steve’s known Bucky for a few months now.

She snorts. “No, but he has a cat.”

As if on cue, Bucky opens the door and pops his head out from the back room. “Natasha, tell Brock he’s a dick,” he says, holding his cellphone out to her.

She takes it and says in a low, threatening voice, “You’re a goddamn piece of shit, Brock Rumlow. Give this man his cat back or I will break into your home, take the cat, and take a dump on your bed.”

Bucky grins as she holds the phone back out to him. “Thanks dear,” he says, before putting the phone back up to his ear, going back into the room, and shutting the door. Then the screaming starts up again.

“So… what kind of cat is it?” Steve asks, shoving his hands in his pockets and trying to ignore the screaming match going on behind the door.

“It’s a black cat with a white paw,” Natasha says. “He found her as a kitten on the side of the road. He is _very_ attached to that cat.”

Steve smiles. “I can see why.”

“Anyhow, Bucky’s not a big screamer,” Natasha says, “which is why this is so funny.”

“Funny?”

She nods. “He’s not usually like this, so you don’t need to worry about it.”

“Why would I worry?” Steve asks, not quite meeting her eye.

She shrugs. “No reason,” she says as she types a few things out on her computer. “Say,” she says after a long pause, looking up at Steve. “You have a car, right?”

“I, uh, do,” Steve says.

She smiles. “And your car… Does it have branding for your company on it, or anything like that?” Steve shakes his head ‘no’. He doesn’t need the extra advertising, and it’s a little embarrassing to drive around a car that is so obviously linked with his profession. Plus, he saw _Arrested Development_ at an impressionable age.

Natasha grins. “I have an idea,” she says.

— —

Cat-napper is not something that Steve ever anticipated adding to his resume.

Of course, _his_ role doesn’t include any actual catnapping. All he’s doing is driving the getaway car, so right now he just waits as Natasha and Bucky sneak into Brock’s apartment building and into his apartment. Bucky still has a key – apparently they were living together, which explains why the cat is there in the first place — and Bucky is pretty sure that Brock didn’t change the locks. “He wants me to come back to him,” he said with a grimace. “I would never do that, but he thinks I will.” Steve didn’t know how to take that, so he just sort of ignored it. It’s better not to obsess about your crush’s cat-stealing ex-boyfriend, though it was nice to know that Bucky has, y’know, dated guys.

Then again, this whole situation has led Steve to this moment, where he’s sitting in a getaway car in front of some random dude’s apartment building, waiting for said crush and his co-worker to steal a cat.

Steve turns the radio up, then down. He tries listening to a podcast, then turns it off. He wiggles a bit, trying to get comfortable. Bucky and Natasha have been in there for about fifteen minutes, and Steve wonders how long it actually takes to wrangle a cat when the doors to the apartment building burst open, Natasha first, Bucky close behind with a black cat in his arms.

Steve starts the car and unlocks the doors.

Natasha climbs into the front seat and Bucky in the back. “Roll,” Natasha says. Steve doesn’t need to be told twice.

“Oh sweet baby, I ain’t never lettin’ anybody hurt you again,” Bucky coos to the cat as Steve drives. “It’s just me and you now, against the whole world.”

“And your best friend and your driver,” Natasha corrects with an eye roll.

“Fine,” Bucky says. “You all can come along for the ride.”

“I’m just the driver?” Steve asks. “Still?” He’s not actually hurt by the statement, but agreeing to be a guy’s getaway car for a catnapping should probably earn him a title that’s better than just “driver”.

“Kidnappin’ organizer?” Bucky offers. “Not as sexy an event as a weddin’ but requires a similar amount of skill.” Natasha snorts.

“Maybe… friend?” Steve offers.

There’s a long pause. “Friend,” Bucky says. “Sure.”

And then he goes back to cooing at his cat.

— —

Steve stops by Sergeant Ink the next day, just to make sure that the cat is acclimating well, and that none of them will be arrested.

“Don’t worry about that,” Bucky says with a grin. “Brock is the last person who wants to get caught up with a police investigation. May find a few baggies of things he doesn’t want anyone to see in his apartment.” Steve’s eyes go wide, and Bucky shrugs. “He’s an ‘aspirin’ drummer’. I should’ve known he was bad news.”

“Aspiring drummer?” Steve asks.

Bucky nods. “He’s too much of a piece of shit that he couldn’t get a band to keep him for more than a few weeks. He mostly works as a temp now. He wears khakis every day and hates it. Can’t pull ‘em off as well as you can.”

“Huh,” Steve says.

“Anyhow,” Bucky says, sliding the wheelie chair he’s sitting on over to the other end of the counter. “I’m glad you stopped by.” He reaches under the counter and pulls out a small box. “It’s for you,” he says.

Steve bites down on his bottom lip just to keep his smile in check. “Really?” he asks.

Bucky nods, pushing the box over to Steve. “C’mon,” he says.

Steve takes the box and opens it up. Inside is a little glass paper weight with a daffodil in the center.

“I saw this the other day when I was out and thought of you,” Bucky says. “There are daffodils in your tattoo, so.” He shrugs.

“It’s lovely,” Steve says, smiling. He picks it up and pulls it out of the box, bringing it close to his face so he can look at it a bit better. It sparkles in the light that comes in through the windows of Sergeant Ink. “Thank you,” he says, looking up at Bucky, still grinning.

“Least I can do, since you helped me liberate my cat and all.” He shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “Thought you could get a little something for your valiant driving skills.”

“It’s very appreciated,” Steve says. “I’ll put it on my desk as soon as I get back.”

“Nah, you don’t want it clutterin’ up that space,” Bucky says with a little frown.

“Who says I don’t?” Steve asks. “Maybe the space needs a little clutter.”

“Yeah?” Bucky asks.

“Sure,” Steve says. “Everyone needs a little clutter.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Bucky's ex boyfriend picks a fight with Bucky that causes them to yell at each other over a cat that Bucky's ex boyfriend has stolen. Bucky later says that his ex boyfriend is a drug user, which caused their break-up.


	5. Buttercups

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the caterer for Steve's big wedding drops out at the last second, Bucky calls in a favor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it even a mambo fic if I don't find a way to throw in some discussion of celebrity chefs?

“You realize that you’ve not only screwed _me_ over, but the entire wedding party as well?” Steve spits into the phone.

“There’s nothing we can—“

“You could have not double booked yourselves when I signed a _contract_ for your services six months ago.”

“We—“

“I’ll see you in court,” Steve says, hanging up. The chances of him actually bringing this place to court are slim to none, but it feels like a good way to end the conversation. Still, there’s something a lot less satisfying about poking a red button to hang up the phone than there was hanging up the phone by slamming a physical phone down onto its holder back in the old days, so he’s still feeling a little flustered and unsatisfied after he does. He drops his phone on his desk and rubs at his temples.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he mutters. “ _Fuck it all_.”

He should’ve never become a wedding planner, should’ve never opened his own business, should’ve never taken the Johnstone-Levi wedding, should’ve never—

His phone starts ringing. It’s “Build Me Up Buttercup” by The Foundations. He usually loves listening to his phone ring, but he hates it, and everything else in the world, right now.

He picks it up without paying attention to who it is, assuming that it’s the restaurant calling back to tell him to lawyer up. “Steve Rogers,” he says.

“Hey Steve, we still on for tomorrow?” Bucky asks.

Bucky.

Shit.

Steve should’ve paid attention to who was calling.

He thinks about the disaster of a wedding happening that weekend now that the caterer has pulled out.

He thinks about the alternate universe where Steve does something sensible, like join the Army or become an international fugitive, and not a wedding planner. He closes his eyes and wishes, for just a second, to be transported to that alternate universe. It doesn’t happen. He opens his eyes and starts talking.

“I’m sorry,” Steve says, voice cracking. “There’s a work emergency and I…” His voice cracks again and his eyes fill with tears. This is so stupid; he’s dealt with stressful situations before. He can get through this without falling to pieces. He just needs to be stronger.

“Work emergency?” Bucky asks.

“The caterer for the Johnstone-Levi wedding dropped out today. No warning, no back-up plans.”

“But the wedding is Saturday,” Bucky says, and Steve can’t even find it in himself to be grateful or happy that Bucky remembers the date of the wedding, despite the fact that it’s incredibly considerate and kind of him to do so.

“I know,” Steve says. “Finding someone else at the last minute is going to be near impossible, let alone anyone that will live up to Kensington’s expectations. And this wedding… It’s a big deal. Kensington Johnstone is a name people know, and if I fuck up this wedding there’s… I’ll go out of business. Plain and simple. Everything, it’s just…” He shuts his eyes, exhales. Inhales, exhales again.

“What kind of food was it?” Bucky asks.

“It was Asian fusion, a restaurant in midtown that the couple likes. I think they went there on their first date or something.”

“David Chang owes me a favor,” Bucky says.

Steve opens his eyes. “What?” he asks.

“Gimme ten minutes to make a call,” Bucky says, and before Steve can ask what the heck he’s talking about, Bucky hangs up.

— —

Bucky calls back in eight minutes.

“We’re on,” he says, “and do you got a cake? Because David can do something with Momofuku Milk Bar, if you don’t.”

“I love you,” Steve says.

“I know,” Bucky says. “I’ll be over with beer in twenty?”

“Marry me?” Steve asks.

“I’ll be over in twenty.”

— —

Kensington is _thrilled_.

“But Momofuku Ko doesn’t do off-site catering,” Kensington says on the other end of the line. “I _checked_.”

“A friend knows David Chang,” Steve says offhandedly while Bucky sips his beer in the corner of Steve’s office. “When I told my friend that _you_ were my client, of course he got on the phone to ask.”

“A wedding catered by Momofuku Ko…” Kensington says with something like dreaminess in his voice. It’s the first time Steve’s heard him sound that way. He doesn’t even talk about his soon-to-be bride that way.

Steve doesn’t understand rich people.

(Which is a lie; he definitely understands them, which is why he can plan great weddings for them. He just wishes he didn’t understand them so well.)

“I mean, if you don’t want me to say yes, we can stick with the current plan,” Steve fibs. Bucky grins at him. “But I thought that this opportunity would be too good to pass up. I mean, how special to get Momofuku Ko to cater your—“

“I’m in,” Kensington says. “Fuck the cost of cancelling the other ones, I want David Chang.”

Steve doesn’t mention that, technically, David Chang is not the executive chef of Momofuku Ko. It’s under Chang’s name, and David Chang said he’d make an appearance, so it seems like a little fact that doesn’t quite matter at this moment. All that matters is that the wedding is saved, thanks to Bucky Barnes.

“Great,” Steve says. “I’ll have everything finalized by the morning.”

He hangs up and clinks his bottle with Bucky’s. Then drains it.

— —

“I dunno how to thank you,” Steve says two beers later. “You saved my business… You saved my _life_ , basically.”

“Y’know how I knew you needed help?” he asks. Steve shakes his head. “You swore. I ain’t never heard you swear before.”

“Bull,” Steve says, taking a swig of his drink.

Bucky nods. “It’s true. Didn’t swear when I stuck a needle on your back but this fucker made you swear.”

“He is a fucker,” Steve agrees.

Bucky snorts. “Anyhow, that’s how I knew you needed help.”

“What do you have on David Chang that would convince him to do this?” Steve asks.

Bucky smiles; he shrugs. “I have my secrets,” he says. “And part of the agreement with David is that I’ll _keep_ this one a secret.”

Steve smiles, leans back and closes his eyes. He wants to know all of Bucky’s secrets, of course, but he also wants to enjoy this moment, just the two of them, and the knowledge that the worst disaster that could possibly happen this weekend has just been thwarted. That isn’t to say that the Johnstone-Levi wedding couldn’t have a million other terrible things happen, but nothing can be as bad as the caterer dropping out at the last moment.

And Bucky saved him.

“Thanks,” he says.

“Anythin’ for you,” Bucky says.

Maybe if Steve were sober — or a little drunker — he would overanalyze that, but right now, he doesn’t. He just smiles and knocks his shoulder against Bucky’s and lets himself drink another beer knowing that tomorrow isn’t the end of the world.


	6. Poppies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky wonders what he ever did to deserve this torture.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bucky POV!

Bucky lays on his bed, Winter snoozing on his chest, and says, “I’m dyin’, Natasha.”

Natasha rolls her eyes and flips the page of the magazine she’s reading. She’s sitting on a comfortable chair that Bucky found at an estate sale two years ago that he has next to his bed. His whole place is like that — a mishmash of things he got for free or for cheap, nothing that actually goes together. If he were a smarter man, he’d consider it a metaphor. “No,” Natasha says, “you’re just really into him. Two entirely different things.”

He strokes Winter twice and she purrs. “Yes, I’m really into him, but _he’s_ not really into _me_ , thus the feeling that death is imminent.”

“You’re the most dramatic person I know,” she says.

“Lies,” Bucky says. “You’re friends with Tony Stark. I may be dramatic, but I’m an eighth as dramatic as he is. Don’t turn this into a fight you can’t win.”

“You’re more dramatic,” Natasha says, voice flat, not even bothering to look up at him as she says it.

Bucky wishes that Winter weren’t sitting on him so that he could flop down on Natasha dramatically, just to prove that he’s not dramatic. Admittedly, the idea makes more sense in his head then it probably would in reality, but he’s too tired and too frustrated to try to make sense of anything, because being in love will do that to a person.

And yeah. He’s totally and completely in love with Steve Rogers. It’s definitely not a big deal, except for the fact that it’s totally and completely ruining his life.

“I can hear you thinking,” Natasha says. “Stop it.”

“What am I thinkin’?” Bucky asks.

“ _Woe is me, for I, Bucky Barnes am unwanted by my one true love_ ,” she says, reciting it like she’s in some Shakespearean drama, or at least a romantic comedy.

“I don’t think it was that hard to guess what I was thinkin’.” He sighs. “And you say that _I’m_ dramatic.

“You are. I seem chill in comparison.” She flips another page, and Bucky wonders how she can even read her magazine while having a conversation. She’s probably just faking it just to look impressive and to make Bucky feel even more woefully inadequate than he already is. Then again, she’s Natasha and they love each other in a platonic way, so she’s probably just skipping an article or something and not actively attempting to make Bucky feel like crap.

Bucky groans and sighs and wiggles around a little, which makes Winter glare at him. “I just want him to _call_ or _text_ or somethin’,” he says.

“You could call him,” Natasha suggests.

“No, I can’t. I’ll make an ass of myself like I do every time we talk, because he’s so normal and cool and put together and I’m a fuckin’ wreck.”

Natasha rolls her eyes. “Get your shit together, Barnes. You’re making Clint look like someone who puts on a suit and commutes to work every day. That’s how pathetic you are right now.”

Bucky groans again.

— —

The thing is, Bucky should be better than this, and he knows that. He told himself long ago — after his Big Gay Moment in high school where he realized that, oh, he’s attracted to men, and should probably date them instead of trying to convince himself to like women — that he would never pine after a straight guy. He wouldn’t be the sad sap who makes the mistake of falling for someone who _cannot like him back_.

And yet, here he is, staring at his phone and wondering what it would be like if Steve would call him and tell him that he’s had an about face and would like to bed him and wed him and take off his shirt in a scenario where Bucky does not have to focus on creating beautiful, permanent art on his body. He would like to focus on sucking a line of hickeys onto Steve’s back sometime, if Steve would be amenable. And in this scenario? Steve would be totally amenable.

Not that Bucky is sure that Steve’s straight. But he’s also not sure that he’s not straight, and it’s not like Steve would do something reasonable like have a Facebook profile where he publicly lists his sexuality for people like Bucky, who just desperately need to know.

The problem is, Steve walked into his tattoo parlor in his pair of khaki pants with his shy little smile and this incredible enthusiasm for what he does for a living, and spoke about art and history and how much he loves his own job and Bucky was _fucked_. Metaphorically. He hasn’t been fucked literally since he met Steve because he _can’t stop thinking about the asshole_ , even long enough to schedule a Grindr hook-up.

And since then? It’s been nothing but confusion. One minute he’s making Steve laugh and smile, and the next he gets so nervous that he can’t bring himself to ask Steve to go get a drink together after that surprise dinner at the hipster place, let alone ask him back to his apartment. And then there was Winter’s liberation, where Bucky was so sure that Steve really liked him — you don’t go commit a crime with someone you feel casual about — but then Steve all dreamily called him his friend, and didn’t even realize that he was breaking Bucky’s heart into a million little bits, even after it had just been repaired by getting Winter back.

And then yesterday, Steve asked him to marry him. It was a joke, but God, Bucky had stopped _breathing_ after that happened. He wanted to say something smooth and cool like, ‘you oughta take me out on a date before you talk about marriage’ but it happened so quickly and was so unexpected that he could barely squeak out any response, let alone something funny and sexy in equal parts.

Steve is so full of surprises.

And Bucky is so metaphorically fucked.

— —

He’s standing behind the front counter on Monday morning, sorting through some mail when the door opens. It’s Steve, and Bucky tries not to perk up like a dog excited to see its owner come home after a long day. “Hey,” Bucky says, all chillness.

“Hey Bucky,” Steve says. He’s carrying a couple of big, heavy-looking bags, and Bucky resists the urge to grab them and carry them in for Steve. “How was your weekend?”

Bucky does not say, ‘Terrible, because all I wanted to know was how your stupid wedding went because I’m so gone on you that I really, genuinely care that Kensington Whateverthefuck had a perfect reception.’

Instead he says, “Fine. Pretty chill. How’d the weddin’ go?”

Steve grins. “Went off without a hitch.” He walks to the counter and hauls the bags up. “I have a few things for you, actually. From the wedding.”

“For little ol’ me?” Bucky asks, eyeing the bags.

Steve nods. “Thought you could share in the spoils, since you essentially won us the war.”

“I’ll never say no to a present,” Bucky says, trying to clamp down on the sheer, utter joy he’s feeling because Steve thought about him enough to grab something from the wedding for him. It could be a discarded sock from one of the guests and he’d probably be excited about it, he’s so stupid gone on this guy. Okay, maybe not _excited_ , but he would still consider it a thoughtful, kind gift.

Steve opens up the first bag and pulls out a cake box. “Managed to grab you a piece of the cake from Milk Bar. It’s really delicious. I think _I_ had two pieces and I don’t have much of a sweet tooth.”

“Good thing I have one,” Bucky says, grinning at Steve and hoping it expresses the ‘and you’re the sweetest thing in this shop’ thought that Bucky has running through his head.

Steve apparently doesn’t get it, because he just goes on and pulls… an entire flower arrangement out of the second bag. “They didn’t want to keep them, and it seemed a shame to throw them away,” he says, putting the thing on the counter. “And the colors… the reds and yellows, they match the shop well, so I thought you could keep it here for a few days, if you’re interested. Or you could bring it home with you, or throw it out, but I saw it and thought of you. Or, your shop at least.”

Bucky can’t help the stupid huge smile he gets. It’s embarrassing, sure, but the flowers are so incredibly beautiful, and really do match the shop.

“It was a heck of a time figuring out how to make the poppies work for the centerpieces, but that’s what Kensington wanted, so that’s what we have.” He pauses, looks down at the centerpiece, then up at Bucky. “Do you like them?”

“I do,” Bucky says, like he’s not mentally planning the flower arrangements he and Steve will have at their wedding.

(The flowers from Steve’s tattoo. All of them. Who cares if it matches perfectly. Besides, with his background, he’s sure that Steve will make it work.)

“Glad to hear it,” Steve says with a smile. “Oh,” he says, digging back into the first bag again. After a few seconds of groping around, he pulls out a piece of paper. “There’s a wedding expo next weekend, and I was wondering if you wanted to have a presence at our table.”

“A wedding expo?” Bucky asks, shuffling his feet behind his desk because it’s an easy way to get some of his nervous energy out without making it obvious to Steve.

“Yeah, it’s like a comic con but for wedding planners and services. People who are getting married in the near future come in, look around, see what kind of stuff they’d like at their big day and people give out their business cards. I thought you may want to have a stack of business cards at our table, or someone from the shop could hang out with us. I know it’s not your primary business, but I think you really have a knack with the couples tattoos and this would be a great way to get some new clients.”

“That’s a great idea,” Bucky says. “So uh, what time do we go to this? You wanna grab breakfast beforehand or somethin’?” he asks, hoping he’s not trying _too_ hard, but knowing that he is definitely trying too hard.

“Oh, I can’t go, actually. I have too many meetings with clients that day. It’ll be you and Scott, I think, maybe Kate if she can free up her schedule.”

Bucky tries really hard not to let his smile fall. “Ah, okay. Another time then?”

“Definitely,” Steve says with a smile before he leaves the store and breaks Bucky’s heart.

— —

Bucky spends the weekend standing at a plastic fold up table, wearing all black in a room full of tulle, and wondering how far he’ll have to go to get Steve to like him. If it’s any farther than this, it’s probably never going to happen.

— —

Sunday night, he sits in his bedroom with Winter on his lap.

“I’m dyin’,” he tells Natasha.

“I feel like we’ve been through this before.”

“Last week, but no one said death comes quickly.”

“Ask him out,” she says.

“He doesn’t like me,” he says.

“Not with that attitude,” she says, turning the page of her magazine.

He sighs, shuts his eyes, and wonders whether he should become one of those monks with a vow of celibacy, or if the tattoos and atheism would exclude him.

And then his phone buzzes. Winter looks over at him like “r u srs?” because the buzzing disturbed her blessed slumber, and Bucky apologizes to his cat, but goes ahead and disrupts Winter further by pulling his phone from his pocket.

It’s a text from Steve:

_Heard you did really well this weekend at the expo! Just wanted to say congratulations. Hopefully next time we can go together. :)_

Bucky groans, drops his phone on the floor, and wonders what he ever did to deserve this torture.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't usually switch POVs when writing stuff, but since I started this fic off with literally no game plan, I decided I can just do what I want. So... sorry if this chapter sucked? I'm just living my life.


	7. Sunflowers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a bad day, Steve asks to pet Bucky's cat. He doesn't anticipate ending up in Steve's bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Platonic bed-sharing awaits you.

There are days where Steve thinks that he’ll never get married.

Not that marriage is requisite to a happy life, or to even be in love, but he’s a romantic. He believes that marriages can work, and he believes that true love is real.

But maybe not for him.

He’s in a funk, one of those weeks where things aren’t necessarily wrong, but just aren’t going right. He’s in his office arguing over a flower order that somehow got mixed up when America brings in his mail. He nods at her, and she doesn’t say anything because she knows he’s having a frustrating phone call, and he doesn’t think about the stack of mail on the side of the desk until a few hours later, when things start settling down for the evening.

He takes a look at it and almost doesn’t bother flipping through it — most of it is probably junk — but something possess him to pick up the stack and start looking through it.

He can recognize that the third envelope is a wedding invitation almost instantly.

There’s a particular kind of paper that people use for the envelopes that hold their wedding invitations, and the invitations themselves. It’s thick but silky, and oftentimes has a sheen to it. Steve’s spent hours of his life choosing these envelopes with brides and grooms-to-be, knows every paper in the stationery store, every type of calligraphy people choose from.

The envelope reads:

_Mr. Steven Grant Rogers_

In black calligraphy — a more modern font choice — with his work address printed underneath.

He puts down the rest of the mail and flips the envelope over.

It’s Peggy’s address on the back.

— —

 _Darling_ , says the note that falls out of the envelope along with the invitation. _I hope this doesn’t come as too much of a shock. I’m sorry for not asking you to be the wedding planner, but if you don’t plan weddings in New Jersey, I doubted you would be willing to come all the way to California. No hard feelings if you cannot make it, but do know that we would love to have you here if you can. Howard is desperate to have you over for a stay. Angie and I send you our love._

_Love,_

_Peggy_

— —

Steve shoves the invitation into his desk drawer and leaves the office in a huff. He doesn’t bring his laptop, just grabs his phone and _goes_. There’s something almost exhilarating about it.

He doesn’t realize where he’s going, until he sees the neon sign for Sergeant Ink hanging over its door. When Steve walks inside Clint is at the desk. “Hey man!” he says, then frowns. “You don’t look too good,” he says.

“Thanks,” Steve says with a chuckle. “Is Bucky here?”

“Sure,” Clint says, “he’s in the back. I’ll get him.”

Steve thanks Clint and hovers by the door. He looks to the left and sees a framed piece of art, done in watercolor. It’s a field of sunflowers, slightly bent in the breeze. It’s signed by Bucky in the corner and there’s something very tender and timid about it that makes Steve swallow down tears.

A few moments later he hears footsteps and Bucky is there, Clint close behind. “Steve?” Bucky asks. His hair is tied back and he’s wearing his glasses, and he’s the best thing Steve’s seen all day.

“Hi,” Steve says. “I hope I’m not intruding.”

“You’re always welcome,” Bucky says. “You okay?”

“Are you, uh, busy tonight?” Steve asks.

“Me? No,” Bucky says in a rush, face as hard to read as ever. “You wanna hang?” he asks.

“I was just wondering,” Steve starts, then sighs. “This is kind of dumb, but I could really use a few minutes with your cat tonight.”

“My cat?” Bucky asks, raising an eyebrow.

Steve nods. “It would just be nice to pet a cat. It’s been one of those days.” He looks down, embarrassed, cheeks reddening. “Sorry,” he says. “I’ll just—“

“I understand,” Bucky interrupts. “Lemme just go grab my stuff.”

“Are you sure?” Steve asks.

Bucky nods. “Yeah, I don’t have any other appointments and Clint can close up—“

“Sure can, Sarge.”

“So gimme a second,” he says, before disappearing back into the back.

There’s a moment of quiet, then Clint says, “That’s cute.”

“What’s cute?” Steve asks, bristling a little.

“Bucky loves doing inventory, but he likes you more.”

Steve’s cheeks get even redder, and he can’t meet Clint’s eye. He just can’t help it. Even though he’s sure that Clint doesn’t mean that Bucky _likes_ him — to use the most third grade language ever — but it sounds a little like that. But it’s enough to know that Bucky would stop doing something that he enjoys just for him; that’s enough to keep Steve going a little longer on this crappy day.

Bucky reemerges a few minutes later, glasses off, leather jacket on. “You have my number in case anything goes wrong?” he asks Clint.

“We were texting last night,” Clint says.

“You lose things,” Bucky says.

“Your number’s programmed in my phone.”

Bucky levels him with a look. “You lose things,” he repeats, voice flat.

Clint rolls his eyes. “I’ve got your number.”

“Good,” Bucky says. He turns to Steve. “Ready?” he asks.

Steve nods, glancing one last time at the painting of the sunflowers, then following Bucky out the door.

— —

They take the train to Bucky’s place near Flatbush, and they’re both quiet most of the ride. Bucky talks a little bit about his day and as they leave the station and start walking towards Bucky’s apartment, he starts talking about this tattoo he’s working on, a full sleeve he’s doing for a guy that’s all Pokémon. “I played Pokémon maybe once in my life and this guy comes in talkin’ ‘bout Skittles and Beedrolls and I’m like ‘shit’ because it’s all a bit out there for me, and then I tell him I’m probably not his guy, so he comes back in the next day with the game and one of those GameBoys and tells me to play it and get back to him.”

“He really wants you to be the artist that bad?” Steve asks.

Bucky nods. “Yeah, sometimes I get people like that.” He pauses, smiles a little. “So anyhow, now I’m going home every night and playing the stupid game, and you know what?”

“What?” Steve asks.

“It’s so fuckin’ fun! Can’t fuckin’ put the thing down, it’s ridiculous. I coo at all these little shits so much that I’m thinkin’ Winter is startin’ to get jealous. I’m about to get a Mimikyu and I’m pretty fuckin’ pumped about it.”

Steve laughs. “What’s that?” Steve asks.

“It’s a Pokémon who dresses like another Pokémon because it’s ugly and thinks people will like it more if it dresses.” Steve raises an eyebrow. “It makes sense in context!” Bucky says.

He seems so miffed that Steve doesn’t understand, and it’s kind of adorable. Steve lets Bucky go on about Pokémon for a little longer, and for a few minutes he forgets about the invitation sitting in his desk drawer just trying to visualize the thing that Bucky’s explaining. “I’ll show you a picture when we get to my apartment,” Bucky says with a huff. “Then you’ll understand.”

They get to Bucky’s place a little after that. It’s on the second floor of an old-fashioned brownstone, the sort of quintessentially New York place that Steve has always envied. The high-rise apartment he lives in now seems so impersonal, and he misses the feeling of _home_ that he gets from places like this. He grew up not too far from here, and he gets the sudden urge to visit the spot where his childhood apartment was. It’s an artisan pickle shop now, but it would be nice to walk by the street corner again and remember what it was like to come home to someone.

Bucky gets them inside and up to his place. “It’s messy,” he warns when they get to the door. “I wasn’t expecting company.”

“That’s fine,” Steve says. “Believe it or not, my place gets messy, too.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Sure, I guess that having a book out on the coffee table counts as a mess.”

“Hey, sometimes I leave a plate out for an hour before I rinse it and put it in the dishwasher.”

Bucky stops fiddling with his keys and looks up. “You _rinse_ before you put somethin’ in the dishwasher?” he asks, incredulous.

Steve nods. “It’s what you’re supposed to do.”

“If I was supposed to wash ‘em myself why did I get a fuckin’ dishwasher in the first place?” Bucky mutters as he opens up the door. He looks up at Steve. “Well, welcome,” he says, gesturing for Steve to enter.

Steve does so, unable to help the way that he looks around with a curious eye. The apartment is everything that Steve expected — it’s warm, with mismatching furniture and colorful blankets all around. There’s a long bookshelf that’s filled with books and knickknacks, and the kitchen has a stack of dishes sitting there waiting to be rinsed, though Steve doubts they will be.

Bucky closes the door and there’s Winter, sauntering up to them and heading straight to Bucky. She rubs herself on his legs and Bucky leans down to pat her head. “Hey girlie,” he says, voice dripping with love and admirations. Steve is not so pathetic that he imagines what it would be like if Bucky would say “Hey Steve” to him with the same intonation. He’s really not. Bucky looks up at Steve, hand still on Winter’s back. “Not sure you’ve been properly introduced. This is Winter.”

Steve squats, and Winter walks up to him with a cat’s usual tentativeness. He reaches his hand out for her to sniff, then glances up at Bucky. He’s smiling at Steve and nods, so Steve takes it that as a sign that this was the correct thing to do. After a few moments, Winter walks forward and sniffs his hand a little. Then, she butts his hand with her head. “Hi there,” Steve says in a quiet voice.

“She won’t leave you alone now,” Bucky warns.

“I don’t mind,” Steve says, reaching over and stroking Winter along the back. She’s silky and smooth, and feels amazing underneath Steve’s fingers. He’s never had a pet before, and he has always been jealous of those who have. It seems like it would be nice to have a quiet companion like Winter; though, Steve’s always wanted a dog, personally.

“Want somethin’ to drink?” Bucky asks.

“Sure,” Steve says, still focusing on Winter.

Bucky nods, then heads into the kitchen. “You can pop a squat on the couch,” he says.

“Pop a squat?” Steve asks with a little smile.

“You never heard that phrase before?” Bucky asks.

“Never heard that phrase from someone who isn’t ninety years old or an elementary school teacher,” Steve says.

“Just for that, I’m gettin’ you a cream soda,” he says.

“You have cream soda?” Steve asks, popping a squat on Bucky’s couch. Winter hops up next to him and nudges his thigh with her head. He starts petting her again, and she settles in next to him.

“Gift from a client. He owns some hipster bar in Queens and makes the stuff himself. Apparently, cream soda is back in, though I don’t know who let it back in.” Steve hears the fridge open, and the clink of glass bottles. Bucky shuts the fridge door and reappears. “Looks like she knows what’s up,” he says, gesturing to Winter with his free hand.

“Think she does,” Steve says, scratching Winter’s neck. Winter purrs.

“She’s a smart girl.” He walks to Steve and hands him a bottle. “It’s a twist-off cap,” he explains.

“Thanks,” Steve says. He stops petting Winter to open his bottle. Her head immediately pops up and she gives him a look that tells him that she’s _not_ happy that she’s no longer being petted. “Give me just a second,” he tells her as he opens up the bottle.

“Don’t let her bully you,” Bucky says, plopping onto the couch on the opposite side of Winter. He toes off his shoes and then pulls his feet up — clad in thick grey socks — onto the coffee table. He opens his own bottle, flicks the cap onto the coffee table, and takes a swig.

Steve takes a sip of his own bottle. “It’s good!” he says, surprised. He’s never had cream soda before, and wasn’t sure what it would taste like. His best guess was like sadness and nursing homes, which probably isn’t a fair assessment.

“Yeah, not sure it’s gonna be the sensation he wants it to be, but it’s pretty good.” He looks over at Steve. “So, bad day?” he asks.

Steve nods, petting Winter again. “Bad day,” he confirms.

“You wanna talk about it or do you want me to distract you, or do you want me to grab a book and leave you alone with my cat?” Bucky asks.

Steve shakes his head. “No, not that last one,” he says too quickly. Bucky smiles. “I’d like to chat. You just… You’re nice to talk to.” He blushes, looks down at Winter, who looks like she’s settling in for a nap.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” Bucky says, taking another sip of cream soda. “So, you watchin’ _The Bachelorette_?” he asks.

“Of course not,” Steve says, not meeting Bucky’s eyes.

“Damn, I really wanted to talk about the last episode with—“

“ _How_ could Rachel have given Lee that rose!” Steve says.

“I know!” Bucky says. “That episode was physically painful to watch, and… Wait, you said you didn’t watch,” Bucky says, eyes narrowing.

“My staff make fun of me for watching! I thought I was walking into a trap.”

“I wouldn’t do that to you,” Bucky says with a smile. “I’m an honest guy.”

“Unlike Lee, the racist son of a bitch.”

“Strong language,” Bucky says.

“Yeah, well, you should’ve heard me yelling at the TV.”

“You’re too much,” Bucky says. “I’m sorry about your bad day,” he adds.

“It’s okay,” Steve says. “It’s a lot better now.”

— —

They talk until late into the night. Normally, Steve would leave earlier, but Bucky keeps telling him that he’s not an inconvenience, and given Steve’s mental state, he’s not about to debate him. But Bucky’s been yawning every few minutes for the past hour, and Steve knows that he should go to bed, too. Tomorrow will be a really long day if he doesn’t manage to get some sleep.

“I’ll head out,” Steve says after Bucky yawns again.

“Nah, I’m fine,” Bucky says, seeming like he’s not fine and is, in fact, very tired.

“It’s okay, I should—“

“Just stay the night,” Bucky interrupts.

Steve… doesn’t know what to say to that.

“It’s late, you live far away… No need for you to trek back.” He shrugs. “I’ve got a couch.”

“I wouldn’t make you sleep on the couch!” Steve says.

“Never said I’d be the one on the couch,” Bucky says, grinning.

Steve rolls his eyes. “You make staying sound so enticing.”

“I’ve got a queen-sized bed,” Bucky says with a shrug. “We could share.”

“Share?” Steve asks.

“Nothin’ untoward, I promise,” Bucky says.

“Sure,” Steve says, surprising himself. “Let’s do it.”

“Yeah?” Bucky asks, voice steady, not quite looking at Steve.

Steve shrugs. “Beats the couch,” he says.

“Alright,” Bucky says. “Lemme go put on some fresh sheets.”

— —

Twenty minutes later, Steve and Bucky are in bed together. Steve is wearing one of Bucky’s old t-shirts and a pair of sweatpants, and staring at Bucky’s back. The whole room smells like Bucky — and a little like cat — and it’s hard to sleep, knowing that Bucky is so close, but that Steve can’t reach out and touch.

“You awake?” Bucky asks.

“Yeah,” Steve admits.

Bucky flips over so he’s looking at Steve, bright blue eyes still somehow shining even in the dark. “Anythin’ I can do to make you more comfortable?” he asks.

“No, I’m just thinking too much.”

“‘Bout what? Your day?” Bucky asks.

He doesn’t know why he does it. Maybe it’s because it’s dark and intimate, maybe because he’s wanted to talk to Bucky about it this whole time, but he starts talking.

“I’ve made my whole career making other people’s romantic dreams come true. Some of those people deserve it, others don’t. A surprising amount of couples seem to hate each other after the process, and I wonder why they go through it at all.” He pauses, swallows hard. “My ex… she’s the only person who I’ve had a _real_ relationship with. We dated, we loved each other, we moved in together, and things were good for a while before it fell apart. She moved to California and I threw myself into my business. We’re still friendly and I’m over her, I am.”

“But?” Bucky prompts, gentle.

“Her wedding invitation came in the mail today.”

“Oh,” Bucky says.

Steve smiles, but it’s a sad smile. “I’m happy for her. I’ve met her partner, and she’s great. They’re great together, and they’ll be happy. Peggy and I weren’t going to be happy, and we knew that. It’s okay to break up with someone, even when you loved them, and I tell that to myself. But there was a long time where I thought that she was it. I thought we’d have that fairy tale together, that I’d plan our own wedding.

“I guess I’m not sure that the fairy tale exists anymore, but I do think that love does. I think that people can be happy together, and I want that. I really want that. I want someone to go to bed with at night and wake up with in the morning. I want to have a wedding and a honeymoon, and I want to have someone who lights up my life and helps me when I’m down and to be that same support for them. I want it all, and I want it so bad. And I’m just scared that I’m never gonna get to have that.” He pauses, chuckles ruefully. “I must sound crazy.”

“No,” Bucky says. “Don’t say that. You… It’s… I want that too, y’know? You’re not alone.”

“You want it?” Steve asks quiet, something bubbling in the pit of his stomach.

“I didn’t think much ‘bout it for a long time. I’d just hook up with people, whatever. Moved in with Brock, which was a fuckin’ mistake. Didn’t cross my mind to get married or any of that shit. But recently… I dunno, it’s like a switch was flipped. Started seein’ visions of white picket fences and haven’t really gone back since.”

Steve chuckles. “The thought of you next to a white picket fence…” he says.

“You don’t think I can hack it?” Bucky asks, and if his voice didn’t falter at the end, Steve would’ve thought he was joking.

But he’s serious. He seriously thinks that Steve doesn’t think he can hack it. And Steve can’t have that. He just never saw the two of them living in the suburbs, is all.

“No, no, Bucky, no,” he says. “Jeez, you’re just… Gosh, you’re so loyal and you’re so kind. Like tonight. You just were there, no questions asked, and you never ask anyone for anything. You’re selfless, and just… Anyone, and I mean _anyone_ , would be lucky to have you as their partner.”

There’s a moment where the words, “I’d be lucky to have you as my partner” are stuck in his throat, but he can’t bring himself to say them. He just can’t bring himself to say them. Not now, not here, not when he’s not sure that Bucky wants him, too.

Bucky exhales. “Didn’t mean to make this about me,” he says.

“I’m serious,” Steve says. “You’re a great guy.”

“Yeah, well, so’re you,” Bucky says, then yawns again. “Sorry,” he says.

“There’s no need to apologize. I’m the one keeping you up until three in the morning,” Steve says.

“Worth it if it makes you feel better,” Bucky says.

“I am. I’m feeling a lot better,” Steve says with a smile.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Bucky says, and before long, they’re both asleep.

— —

It’s weird to wake up with Bucky next to him.

Steve wakes up first because, despite getting to bed late, his body is used to a five am wake-up time. It’s later than that now — he can tell — but Bucky is still asleep, hair messily sprayed across his pillow, a little drool clinging to the corner of his mouth. He’s adorable, and there’s something so tender and intimate about this moment that makes Steve’s heart ache. He wants to wake up like this every morning for the rest of his life.

The fact that Bucky, who has been nothing but kind, loyal, and hilarious since the date they met, has those insecurities makes Steve want to scream. Because if Bucky can’t find what he wants in a relationship, what hope does anyone else have, really? The thought that someone, _anyone_ , would look at Bucky and not want to wake up next to him every morning, just like this, seems so strange to Steve. He’d give just about anything for this to be his life, to share this apartment and this world with this man next to him.

Well, maybe not _anything_. He loves his business and his friends. But he’d give up having a five minute commute, that’s for sure.

“You ‘wake?” Bucky mumbles.

“A little,” Steve says, embarrassed that he’s been caught.

Bucky smiles a little and snuggles in close to Steve. “Ten more minutes,” he says, closing his eyes and making a little, sleepy grunt.

Steve knows that he shouldn’t stay. He knows that he should thank Bucky for letting him pet Winter, for the talk, and the bed, then clean himself up and head out. He knows that Bucky is probably just sleepy, and doesn’t really mean to move close enough that Steve can feel the heat of his body against his own. He knows that he has a jogging route to run and a business to attend to.

But he ignores all of this.

Instead, he wraps an arm around Bucky’s shoulders and lets it rest there. After Bucky makes another sleepy noise of ascent, Steve closes his eyes again and lets himself drift off to sleep, Bucky Barnes safe and warm next to him.

— —

He dreams a little of sunflower fields and Bucky Barnes.

— —

Steve can’t go to Peggy and Angie’s wedding — he’s got a work obligation that he really can’t move around — and he’s sad about it, honestly. He puts the response card in the mail that afternoon, then calls Peggy for the first time in ages to give her his regrets, and to tell them that he’s already sent the KitchenAid mixer from their registry and they should look out for it.

And when she asks him how he’s doing, Steve can say, truly and honestly, that he’s doing well.

And actually? He’s doing great.


	8. Lavender

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve invites Bucky to go taste cakes at a bakery.

Every time Steve sees Bucky, he blushes.

To be fair, he’s just about _always_ blushed when he’s seen Bucky, but it’s been worse since the night he spent in Bucky’s bed.

“Hi Bucky,” Steve says, trying to stay calm as his cheeks heat up.

“Hey,” Bucky says, looking up from the paperwork he’s doing at the front desk of Sergeant Ink, then looking right back down. It’s like he doesn’t even care that Steve walked in the door. Steve tries not to let that sting. “Thought our appointment was tomorrow,” he says, and Steve lets himself feel better, knowing that Bucky remembered the time and date of their appointment right off the bat. It’s a small consolation, but it’s a consolation.

“About that…” Steve says.

“Gotta cancel?” Bucky asks. He finally looks up again, and he’s wearing his glasses. Steve loves it when Bucky wears his glasses. He seems so handsome when he wears them, not that’s he’s not always handsome. He just seems _more_ handsome, and Steve is so gone on Bucky it’s embarrassing.

“There’s a cake tasting,” Steve says. Bucky grins. “It’s actually difficult!” Steve protests.

“Sure it is,” Bucky says. “Sounds like a lotta hard work, stuffin’ your face with passionfruit royal icin’ or whatever it is that rich people get on their weddin’ cakes. I’ll take vanilla buttercream, thank you very much.” He looks back down at his paperwork and writes something with the yellow #2 pencil he’s holding. Somehow the fact that Bucky writes with a yellow #2 pencil is charming to Steve.

Steve would try to argue with Bucky, but Steve actually has had a client choose passionfruit icing on their wedding cake more than once, so he has no ground to stand on there. That being said, passionfruit icing tends to be delicious, especially paired with vanilla sponge and raspberry jam.

“I was going to invite you to come with me to the tasting as an apology for cancelling, but if you think that it’s too much work for you or that you’re too good for it…“

Bucky’s head snaps up. “You’re invitin’ me to go with you to a cake tastin’?” he asks.

Steve nods. “If you can leave work.”

“Fuckin’ hell, Steve. I’m my own fuckin’ boss and my appointment cancelled on me. I can go with you to a fuckin’ cake tastin’, Jesus Christ.”

Steve grimaces. “I can’t tell if the gratuitous swearing means that you’re excited or if I should be scared.”

“Both,” Bucky says, looking back down at his paperwork. “Text me the details. I gotta finish crunchin’ these numbers by the end of the day.”

“Okay,” Steve says. He bites his lip, and just looks at Bucky for a moment, taking him in. Bucky makes a few marks on the page and ignores Steve. Then Steve leaves, knowing it would be creepy to stay and watch any longer.

He doesn’t think that he stops blushing until he gets back to work.

— —

He confirms his plans with the bakery, then texts Bucky the details of the tasting that night. Bucky texts him back with a series of emojis, and Steve can’t help but grin.

It’s not a date; at least, he doesn’t think that it’s a date.

But it’s still an afternoon alone with Bucky in a bakery, of all places. It’ll be a great day.

— —

Bucky shows up fifteen minutes late.

“Sorry,” he mutters to Steve after he walks in.

“Not a problem,” Steve lies. The bakers have looked increasingly pissed off, but Steve wasn’t going to start without Bucky. And if the bakers really had an issue with him being late, then Steve doesn’t need to patronize them. There are a lot of bakeries in New York. “I really needed a second pair of tastebuds on this one,” he adds with a smile.

Bucky nods, but doesn’t say anything in response.

Steve takes a better look at Bucky, and honestly? He doesn’t look so good.

He’s got bags under his eyes and his hair seems messier than his usual artfully messy bun. He may be wearing the same clothes as he was yesterday, even. Steve reaches out to take Bucky’s arm, but before Steve can get there, Bucky pulls out of the way.

“Sorry,” Bucky says, quiet, voice sounding almost gravelly. “I had a bad night.”

“We can reschedule—“

Bucky shakes his head. “No, I’m not gonna be the reason…” He pauses, sighs. “Let’s do this. I’ll be better, I promise.”

“You don’t have to be better,” Steve says with a smile. “You can be a grump the whole time we’re here. You’ve just gotta eat some cake and tell me what you think about it, and honestly? I just like spending time with you. So if you want to be here, I want you to be here. If you don’t, then you don’t have to be.”

Bucky exhales. “That’s quite the speech,” he says, a little sarcastic, but with a small smile.

“I’ve written a lot of wedding vows,” Steve admits. “Some of the sappiness has stuck.”

Bucky snorts.

“You ready?” Steve asks.

Bucky nods. “Let’s do it.”

— —

If the bakers are confused to see a tired tattoo artist with a frown, they don’t show it. In fact, Steve thinks that one of them — a tall man with a charming smile — even tries to flirt with Bucky as he hands him a piece of vanilla cake with Bavarian cream filling and strawberry frosting. If Bucky notices him flirting, he ignores it, but Steve’s not sure Bucky’s noticing much of anything right now. He just takes a bite of each plate, jots a few notes down on a legal pad that Steve gave him, then pauses the plate on to Steve.

Honestly, it’s a lot better than Steve’s usual cake tasting adventures. Typically, he comes to bakeries with frenzied couples, who fight over whether the cake should have a floral or lace design, and whether the matcha frosting seems like overkill. Today, he’s here to test this bakery out to see if it’s a place that he should recommend to clients when they start shopping around for their cakes. And to come with Bucky — even when he’s not feeling great — is a treat. There’s no drama, no complaining, and no fighting. Bucky just writes down his thoughts, and when he particularly likes something — or has something snarky to say about a particular flavor — he slides his legal pad over to Steve and lets him read his thoughts. So far, they’ve both liked most of the flavors.

But while the cake is good, the company’s better.

“This is something we’ve just started whipping up,” says one of the bakers, pulling out a plate. It’s a normal yellow cake, but the frosting is green. “It’s bell pepper whipped cream frosting,” she says with a grin.

“No,” Bucky says. “Nope, nada, no.”

The baker looks like she may _cry_. “He’s allergic to bell peppers,” Steve fibs. She nods thoughtfully, and Steve thinks that she buys it. He turns to Bucky. “You wanna take a breather?” he asks as he stands up.

Bucky nods, then stands, too. And then he surprises Steve. He grabs Steve’s hand and laces their fingers together. Stunned, Steve can only follow as Bucky leads him outside. “Sorry,” Bucky says as soon as the door closes behind them. He pulls his hand away. “But fuckin’ bell peppers? Leave them in savory food, Jesus Christ. Cake shouldn’t taste like guacamole.”

Steve chuckles, and tries not to be disappointed or confused about Bucky’s hand. He fails on both accounts, but moves on anyway. “They’re trying a little too hard, but I’ve had couples with weird requests. I’m just going to say two words: cheese cake.”

Bucky frowns. “Cheesecake isn’t weird,” he says. “There’s a national restaurant chain themed around it for Christ sake.”

Steve shakes his head. “I’m not talking about a cheesecake, the well-known dessert. I’m talking about a cheese-space-cake. It was cheddar and gouda.”

Bucky’s eyes go wide. “What?” he asks.

“They met in Wisconsin,” Steve says. “On a diary farm. They weren’t farmers but on some kind of farm tourist vacation. Honestly, I didn’t pay too much attention.”

“Lord save us from the midwest,” Bucky says, and Steve laughs. He looks down. “Sorry I’m shit company today,” he says.

“Thought we went over this already,” Steve says with a smile.

Bucky shakes his head. “Honesty hour, but I’m feelin’ really fuckin’ self-conscious in there.”

“Why’s that?” Steve asks.

Bucky takes a deep breath, then takes a few steps back to the brick wall of the bakery and leans against it. Steve moves closer to him and leans against the wall, too, but doesn’t crowd Bucky. “Honestly? I dunno,” Bucky says after a long pause. “I sometimes have bad days. I’m havin’ a bad day. They’re not… I get nightmares sometimes. Let’s just leave it at that,” he says.

“Oh,” Steve says.

“Usually when this happens I hole up in the back at work and do inventory or some shit, but I didn’t wanna cancel, unlike some people.” He shoots Steve an almost playful glance. Steve looks down, bashful. “But there’s a disconnect. Sittin’ there eatin’ cake and havin’ these professional bakers watch me… I don’t belong there.” He sighs. “I don’t wanna be a bummer, I can go.”

“I never said you were a bummer,” Steve says, “and I don’t want you to go.”

“I kinda barked at her,” he says.

Steve shakes his head. “You are just vehemently against bell peppers sweets. I understand that, and I’m sure she does, too.” He pauses. “Well, she may not understand, but she probably understands an allergy.” Steve swallows. “You belong there just as much as I do, Buck.”

Bucky sighs. “You’re too nice,” he says.

“Pot calling the kettle black, there.” He pauses, then adds, serious, “I don’t want you to leave, but if you want to leave I’ll come with you. I’ve got most of my opinions on this place set. The last five flavors won’t really change much.”

“Don’t say that,” Bucky says, rolling his eyes. “Don’t cut your time short.”

“Then you’ll come back inside with me?” Steve asks.

“Don’t know why you want me to, but sure. I will.”

“I want you to because you make everything better. It’s like I said — I just like spending time with you,” he adds with a smile. Steve knows he’s being a little too forthright, but if it can give Bucky any kind of comfort, he doesn’t mind. He just wants Bucky to know that he belongs wherever it is that Steve is.

Bucky doesn’t meet Steve’s eyes. He smiles, but it’s a sad one. “I almost didn’t show,” he admits. He looks up. “I’m glad I did.”

“I’m glad you did, too,” Steve says.

Bucky sighs. “Let’s go eat some more cake,” he says, overdramatic, as if pained.

“You sure?”

“It’s eatin’ cake, not gettin’ a PhD. C’mon,” he says, then leads them back inside.

— —

Bucky remains quiet through the rest of the tasting, but there’s a bit more of a smile on his face as he tastes the last few flavors.

“Hey Steve,” he says quietly after what seems like their nine-hundredth piece of cake. This one is some kind of lemon-lavender monstrosity that Steve doesn’t want to ever put into his mouth again.

“Yeah Buck?” Steve asks, looking Bucky’s way. Bucky has a chocolate cake with peanut butter-chocolate ganache that looks pretty good, all things considered. Looks much better than what’s on Steve’s plate.

“You got somethin’ on your face,” he says.

“I do?” Steve asks, looking down to grab his napkin.

“Yeah, here, I got it,” Bucky says, reaching out, and before Steve can look up Bucky has dabbed a big dollop of peanut butter frosting on his nose. Steve sputters for a second as the frosting drops from his nose onto his sky blue button-up shirt.

He looks at Bucky, then down to his shirt, then back up at Bucky. “That’s very unprofessional,” he says, face all seriousness.

Bucky’s face falls. “I—“ he starts, but is interrupted by Steve scooping up a thick dollop of the lavender frosting from his own slice and dabbing it onto Bucky’s nose.

“There we are,” Steve says. “Now we match.”

Bucky grins and tries licking the icing off with his tongue. He’s unsuccessful, but they laugh, and the bakers join in with them.

— —

“I didn’t realize he was your boyfriend,” says the baker who flirted with Bucky earlier.

“What?” Steve asks. He’s finishing up with the staff while Bucky hails them a taxi.

“You two are so cute. That whole frosting on the nose bit? Adorable. Make sure you think of us when you’re choosing your wedding cake!”

Steve nods and smiles and signs a piece of paperwork.

He should correct him, but he doesn’t.

— —

Steve reschedules their session for the next week. It’s their last session, and the tattoo looks beautiful. But when it’s over, Steve can’t help return to his apartment, sit on his couch, and slump down. He has no excuse to talk to Bucky now, no excuse to stop by the shop to schedule a session or double-check that they’re on for the next one. He has no reason to—

His phone buzzes. He pulls it out of his pocket and sees the text from Bucky:

_I feel like I owe you a piece of cake. Wanna meet for lunch at the new bakery down the block from Sergeant Ink? They’ve got sandwiches, too, if you don’t wanna just eat cake for lunch._

Steve grins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: So it's come to my attention that there are places where people prefer to eat avocados as sweet food! I honestly didn't know, so thanks for bringing that to my attention. I switched the avocados out with bell peppers now. I'm sorry that I didn't know. I will endeavor to do more research in the future!
> 
> Sorry it's been so long since an update! It's not without reason: I've posted several longer fics in the past few weeks! I'm going to shamelessly plug them here: [Bring It On Home To Me](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11091294/chapters/24742989) (Rock Star!Bucky, Teacher!Steve AU), [The Royal Crown Cures Not The Headache](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11323359) (Cap!Steve, Prince!Bucky AU) and [Where You Lead](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11399391) (Diner Owner!Bucky, Single Dad!Steve AU).


	9. Roses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky and his staff help Steve out when his crew gets a stomach bug before a big wedding.

Steve tries to balance six cardboard boxes full of place cards, jordan almonds, and other pastel-colored decor, as he walks from his office to where his truck is idling on the street. He needs to go quickly, which is difficult when juggling six cardboard boxes that rival his own not insignificant height. But if he doesn’t manage to get all six boxes to the street quickly, he runs the risk of being towed, which would be a hell of a thing to deal with when he’s working with his _full_ staff, let alone working with the one person skeleton crew he’s got for today’s wedding.

He doesn’t know what Scott put in the brownies he brought in on Thursday, but all of his staff — minus America, who is lactose intolerant doesn’t eat chocolate, and is now Steve’s favorite employee — called in last night to say that they couldn’t go to the wedding because of food poisoning. Usually, Steve has enough staff that one person being out of commission isn’t a big deal, but his entire staff? That’s a horror story, especially for a wedding of this size.

“Jesus, you carry those like that and you’re gonna die, Steve,” Steve hears someone say. If he didn’t know better, he would think that it was Bucky Barnes, but why would Bucky Barnes be at Steve’s place of work at six in the morning on a day that Sergeant Ink opens at ten? It just doesn’t make sense. “Lemme grab a couple of those,” the voice says, taking the top three boxes off of Steve’s stack.

As soon as Steve sees the knuckle tattoos on the right hand and the cyborg tattoos on the left, he knows that it really _is_ Bucky Barnes. “Bucky?” Steve asks. “Why’re you here?”

“Hey,” he says. “Heard you were short-staffed today, so Natasha, Clint and I are here to help out.”

“You’re what?” Steve asks. He hasn’t had enough coffee yet.

“Scott called. Well, actually, Luis called Natasha on Scott’s phone. He’s taking care of Scott while Scott pukes his guts out. Anyhow, he told her that you could use a few extra hands on board, so we’re here. Clint’s hanging out by the truck to make sure you don’t get towed and Natasha’s getting coffee. I came to help you out with the boxes.”

“That’s… isn’t the shop open today?” Steve asks.

Bucky nods. “Luis is there, and so is Darcy, who’s new but good. Natasha had to juggle a few appointments, but Clint and I were able to make things work out pretty easy, so it’s all good, and don’t you dare feel guilty about this. You needed help, so we’re here to help. You’d do the same thing for me if I asked. I mean, I can’t say that we’ll be as effective as your usual team, but we take orders pretty well and we’ll do the best we can. If nothin’ else, it’ll take some of the pressure off of America so she can get shit done.”

Steve, embarrassingly, blinks back tears. “Thank you,” he says, quiet.

Bucky just smiles. “C’mon,” he says, “let’s get these down to the truck before Clint finds a way to get you towed.”

— —

Steve — who spent the night furiously trying to see that his staff was okay while simultaneously making contingency plans for a reduced workforce for the next morning — actually manages to doze a bit on the hour and a half ride out to the wedding venue in the suburbs. It’s not too far geographically speaking, but going anywhere in New York takes too much time, even at this early hour.

He just didn’t mean to fall asleep on Bucky’s shoulder.

If it were a normal day, he would’ve been awake and calling the florist to double-check about the couple’s last-minute request for a red rose bouquet when they initially asked for wildflowers, but instead he drools on his crush’s leather jacket.

It’s not a great day.

— —

That being said, Bucky and his team are a great help. Clint is stronger than he looks but also has an artistic eye and is a godsend when it comes to setting things up, and Bucky is as used to managing deliveries as Steve is, except better, because unlike Steve, he has a mind for numbers and can tell when the catering company doesn’t have enough plates.

And Natasha? Natasha just gets things done.

Steve spends most of the morning and afternoon with the bride, America with the groom. They keep in touch with walkie talkies and texts, and while Steve was concerned that the whole thing would be a disaster, things actually come together, largely because Natasha does the work of about three people at ultra speed with very little direction. If Steve didn’t think that Bucky would murder him in his sleep for it, he’d ask Natasha to join his crew in an instant.

The wedding turns out to be a beautiful affair, and Steve actually manages to shed a tear before he releases the doves that the couple requested. Though, he’s not entirely sure whether the tear is actually from feelings about the ceremony, or just the stress of the day. It’s probably a mixture of both, he muses while dodging a dove.

Steve hates doves. They’re stupid and mean and they poop on everything. But the couple _really_ wanted them, and Steve is a damn good wedding planner.

— —

Steve doesn’t have time to take a breath. The reception immediately follows the ceremony, and Steve switches to party mode, focusing on getting the band to stop playing _The Rains of Castamere_ as a joke, making sure every guest who requires food accommodations gets the right plate, and that the best man drinks enough alcohol to be funny, but not so much that he says something inappropriate.

By the time that Steve tells the pyrotechicians to begin the firework display, he’s completely exhausted and completely satisfied with his day’s work. There were no major errors on his team’s end, and the wedding went by smoothly. The mother of the bride even stopped by to tell him that he did a good job, which he considers are great compliment. Of course, he couldn’t have done it without America, Natasha, Bucky, and Clint, but he does take a good deal of satisfaction in his own work.

Bucky sidles up next to him as the band begins to play the bride and groom’s favorite song. The grand swell in the middle of it is the signal for the pyrotechnicians to begin lighting off the fireworks. It was a cute idea, but Steve had a heckuva time getting the pyrotechnicians to start the fireworks at the right moment during their practice runs. It took a lot of time — and a lot of the bride and groom’s budget — but they got it down the weekend before the wedding, and Steve just hopes that it all goes as well as it did then.

“You happy?” Bucky asks.

Steve nods. He’s leaning against the building that the reception is in. They’re all on a large balcony overlooking a golf course that the fireworks will be on. The bride and the groom hadn’t been all that happy when they realized that, in order to do the fireworks like this, they’d have to choose a venue in the suburbs. But the golf course is beautiful, and the reception hall is very tasteful, and Steve thinks he did alright in finding a location that suited their needs.

“It was all nice. Don’t think I’ve ever been to a weddin’ this nice,” Bucky says. “Think the last weddin' I went to happened on a volleyball court, then we all played volleyball — bride versus groom.”

Steve laughs, then says, “Thanks.” He can’t help but look at Bucky and smile. He looks so good, hair smoothed back and in a tuxedo. He’s beautiful, the best thing that Steve’s seen in a long, long time. And he can’t believe that Bucky managed to get a tuxedo for this; he’s so touched, and all of this means so much more because he, as well as Natasha and Clint, came to help without being asked. Because they knew that Steve needed them. “I couldn’t have done this without you or your staff,” Steve says.

“You would’ve found a way,” Bucky says.

Steve shakes his head. “It would’ve been a disaster,” he says. “I don’t know how to say thank you for all that you’ve done for me,” he adds, voice going a little hoarse.

Bucky shrugs, shakes his head. “All good. You’d do the same for me if I asked.”

“But—“

“Is this what you want?” Bucky asks, looking out at the golf course. “A weddin’ like this?”

“A wedding?” Steve asks.

“When you get married,” Bucky says. “This sorta traditional deal: big reception hall, jordan almonds, red rose bouquet, etcetera.”

Steve looks out at the golf course, too. It’s dusk, and the rolling green is an environmental disaster, but very pretty. “This is a little much for me, honestly,” Steve says. “I don’t need fireworks.”

“What do you need?” Bucky asks, soft. Steve looks down at Bucky, and notices that his face is very earnest, and very close.

It takes a lot of self-restraint to keep himself from saying, ‘you’.

Steve smiles. “The right person. Maybe a beach somewhere… or honestly? I’d like to get married at city hall, then have everyone over for pizza or something like that. Volleyball sounds pretty fun, too. I don’t have a lot of family or people to impress.” He pauses, chuckles at himself. The irony of the wedding planner wanting a small wedding isn’t lost on him. “If it’s the right person, then it’s enough, no matter what it is.”

“That’s really nice,” Bucky says with a smile. He leans against the wall next to Steve, the fabric of Bucky’s tuxedo just barely touching Steve’s arm.

“How about you?” Steve asks. “What kind of wedding do you want?”

Bucky grins like Steve asked him something hilarious. “A big weddin’, _huge_. I want a weddin’ that rivals Princess Diana’s,” he says.

Steve can’t help it. He snorts.

“Hey!” Bucky says, elbowing Steve’s side.

“Sorry, sorry!” Steve says. “I just didn’t expect that.”

“The way I see it, I’m only gettin’ married once. I want a weddin’ to _remember_.”

“Will you let me plan it?” Steve asks.

Bucky looks at Steve. Steve looks at Bucky.

The music swells and fireworks start going off over the golf course.

“Lately, I’ve been thinkin’ you’d be the other groom,” Bucky says.

“Oh,” Steve says, taking a shaking breath.

“Yeah,” Bucky says.

There may be music playing. Couples may dance around them. Fireworks may pop in the distance. Steve doesn’t really notice any of it.

Instead, all he sees is Bucky’s face. All he hears is Bucky’s breathing and the sound of his own heart beating. And all he feels is Bucky’s cheek underneath his fingers, his arm wrapped around his waist, and his lips against his own.

It’s not their wedding, but it is the beginning of their future together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the big first kiss, but it's not over yet! There's going to be an epilogue and it's going to be long. This epilogue will have everything: accounting, eggplant parmigiana, couples figuring out their future together, and Pinterest. Get pumped.


	10. Bouquet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve finds his happily ever after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are, the final chapter! I wanna say a huge thank you to everyone who commented, left kudos, and reblogged the Tumblr post while I wrote this fic. That support means so much, and is so appreciated. I love y'all, and I hope you enjoy this final chapter.

“And I can already tell you that the garden is not going to let you have that many balloons because of the possible impact on the wildlife, but if you wanted to do do an arch out of flowers, I have a contact in—“

There’s a knock on the door. “It’s open,” Steve calls. He smiles at the couple sitting in his office. “It’s probably America,” he says. They nod — they met America on their way in.

It is America who opens the door. “Your lover is here with lunch,” she says.

“ _America_ ,” Steve says, cheeks going red, though his heart picks up a little. It always does when Bucky is nearby, even after two years together. He looks to the couple. “Mind if… It’s just… My lunch…” he says, feeling embarrassed. Bucky doesn’t usually come when he has clients; though, he doesn’t usually schedule clients during Bucky’s lunch hour. Most of the time, they find an excuse to sneak away and eat together. It’s just that Astrid and Dirk couldn’t meet at any other time today.

“Of course you can have your friend bring you lunch, sweetheart!” Astrid says with a grin. “That’s so nice, I wish this one would do that for me,” she adds, nudging her fiancé with her elbow.

“I made you dinner last night!” Dirk says with a laugh.

“You _bought_ me dinner last night,” Astrid corrects. They poke fun at each other for another minute; meanwhile, Steve looks over them and gives America a nod. She shuts the door and heads out, probably to tell Bucky to come in.

Low and behold, about forty-five seconds later the door opens again, this time revealing Bucky.

He looks so, _so_ good. Of course, the last time Steve saw Bucky he was wearing nothing but a pair of black boxer-briefs and was standing in their kitchen making bacon, but he somehow looks even better now, standing in his doorway in a pair of tight low-rise jeans and a grey t-shirt so worn and thin that Steve can see the outlines of his nipple piercings through it. His tattoo sleeves pop out against the neutral color of the shirt, and his hair is pulled back in a messy bun. He’s got his aviator sunglasses pushed on the top of his head, and he’s smirking as he walks into Steve’s pristine office with his dirty Doc Martens.

Steve loves him so much.

“Hey!” Steve says, grinning, standing up so he can take the bag from Bucky and maybe give him a kiss.

“Hey slugger,” Bucky says. Astrid and Dirk look over at Bucky and Steve notes the moment their eyes go wide. Bucky shoots Astrid a wink and Astrid chuckles. Dirk seems to take it in good fun, which Steve appreciates, especially when Bucky winks at Dirk, too. “I got you corned beef but I decided I wanted half so there’s half a corned beef sandwich and half a salami, which was mine. And uh, I got you a big pickle, a sour one so you don’t gimme shit like last time, and uh, there’s one of those terrible sugar cookies that they make with the colorful frosting, and a piece of kugel. Oh, and a Doctor Brown’s black cherry because I still refuse to get you celery-flavored.”

“Is there a vegetable?” Steve asks, because Bucky knows that Steve always gets a vegetable. He may have a huge appetite, but he does try to take care of himself a little.

Bucky levels him an unimpressed look. “A pickle is a cucumber,” he says.

“Before it took a salt bath,” Steve responds.

“What kinda veggie was I gonna get you at the deli, Steve? It was a pickle or coleslaw and I chose the pickle.”

“They’ve got good salads!” Steve says. “With the creamy garlic dressing.”

“Only you go to the deli and order a fuckin’ salad,” Bucky says, rolling his eyes.

“They have, like, ten salads on the menu!” Steve says.

“My grandfather didn’t escape pogroms for you to order a fuckin’ salad at the deli,” Bucky says. Dirk shifts uncomfortably, but Steve knows that Bucky is kidding. Not that Bucky’s family escaped from pogroms in the early 20th-century, because they did (and then opened a Jewish deli in Chicago, which is where Bucky’s superior attitude about deli food comes from). He adds, “Should’ve gotten you the celery soda. Maybe you’d be more appreciative,” which makes Steve roll _his_ eyes.

“That doesn’t count as a vegetable, either,” he says.

“How ‘bout I make you a big plate of raw carrots for dinner,” Bucky offers. “You can practice your Bugs Bunny impression all night. It’ll be a hoot.”

“Maybe if you get me some creamy garlic dressing to go with them…” Steve says.

Bucky rolls his eyes again, but he’s smiling. “Whatever you want, sugar.” Even though they’re embarrassing and awful, Steve sort of loves Bucky’s pet names for him. He only calls him stuff like “slugger” and “sugar” when he’s being half-sarcastic or trying to make someone staring at them on the subway uncomfortable, and Steve would never be able to actually call Bucky any of those things out of sheer embarrassment, but when Bucky does it there’s this mix of sweetness and hilarity that seems like a good metaphor for their relationship as a whole.

Steve takes the bag from Bucky. “Thanks for lunch,” he says.

“You’re welcome,” Bucky says. He goes up on his tiptoes and gives Steve a peck on the cheek. “See ya later,” he says.

Bucky looks at Astrid and Dirk and grins. “Congratulations on your engagement,” he says, “and for your good taste in weddin’ planners.”

“T-thanks,” Dirk says. “We’re very happy,” he adds.

“I know what that feels like,” Bucky says, looking back up at Steve with a little smile, so sincere and small and perfect that Steve can’t help but smile back.

Steve melts a little on the inside, and can’t help the sappy way he stares as Bucky leaves.

“So that’s your boyfriend?” Astrid asks.

Steve nods. “Going on two years,” he says.

“Not what I expected,” Dirk says with a nervous giggle.

“Yeah, dunno what he sees in a dope like me,” Steve says, looking wistfully at the door before turning back at Astrid and Dirk. “Where were we?” he asks, setting his lunch on his desk and counting the moments before he can go home and back Buck.

— —

Home is an apartment two blocks from Sergeant Ink that Steve and Bucky moved into a year and a half ago. It’s not the best place in the world — Steve wishes that there was better light in the kitchen — but it’s _their_ place, and there are traces of their relationship all over it. It’s not Bucky’s old cluttered place, or Steve’s sterile apartment. It’s something in-between, with parts of both of them, and it’s always a relief to walk through the door after a long day.

Bucky works later than Steve — which makes sense, given his profession — so Steve takes leftovers from last night’s dinner out of the fridge and heats them up in the microwave for his supper. Bucky cooked last night and packed up meals for the next few days so that Steve doesn’t have to go near a stove. It’s a system that they’ve worked out — Bucky does the cooking, Steve does the cleaning, and no one burns the apartment down.

Tonight he’s got chicken tiki masala with rice, and the good smell fills up the apartment as the microwave heats it up. When the dish is done heating, he takes it into the living room and turns on the TV to HGTV. After he takes a few bites, he pulls his phone from his back pocket and texts Bucky:

_Dinner is great. Thanks!_

Bucky texts back a picture of a dick. It’s not _his_ dick, because Steve knows what Bucky’s dick looks like, but it’s a dick with a silver piercing. It’s not the first time Steve’s gotten a pic like this, but it still makes Steve snort.

_finished up piercing this masterpiece (and yes I got permission to send it to you) and I’m gonna head home early_

Steve rolls his eyes.

 _With a masterpiece like that why would you want to come home?_ he asks.

_cant fuck for 4-6 weeks while it’s healing, asshole_

Steve doesn’t know why he asked when the answer was so obvious.

He chuckles and sets his phone down so he can eat the rest of his dinner before it gets cold.

He’s washing up the plate when the apartment door opens. “In here,” Steve calls.

“Hey,” Bucky says, and Steve can hear the clink of his keys on the small plate they keep near the entryway. Steve never remembers to take his keys out of his jacket pocket, but Bucky always puts his keys down. It’s nice that Steve knows that, a little reminder of their life together.

Winter makes an appearance. She’s typically happy enough to ignore Steve, but when Bucky comes home she’s all over him, and sure enough, when Bucky walks into the kitchen Winter is weaving through his legs and mewing. “Hey,” Bucky says, walking to Steve and wrapping his arms around his waist and leaning on his back, pressing a kiss to the back of Steve’s neck.

“Is for horses,” Steve says in a mock serious tone.

Bucky nips the back of his neck.

“Hey!” Steve says in surprise, dropping his plate into the soapy water.

“Is for horses, you fucker,” Bucky mutters, before laughing and squeezing Steve’s torso tight. “You done eatin’?” he asks.

“Yeah, but if you want a plate I’ll fix one up for you.”

Steve feels Bucky shake his head. “Masterpiece dick passed out a little after gettin’ the piercin’ so Clint ordered a pizza for us to share while we kept an eye on him.”

“From where?”

“Gino’s, down the street.”

Steve groans. “You should’ve called me over, I love Gino’s,” he says.

“I got the garlic breadsticks for you,” Bucky says. Steve perks up. “Can’t say I’m not a provider.”

“Where are they?” Steve asks.

“By the key plate,” Bucky says. “Couldn’t hold ‘em and pet the cat at the same time,” he explains.

“And one has to have priorities,” Steve says.

“Exactly,” Bucky says. “Glad you understand.” He goes back to kissing the back of Steve’s neck, and Steve shivers. “Speaking of priorities—“

“If you wanna go to bed, we should do it before I eat the garlic breadsticks,” Steve says.

Bucky scoffs. “I’ve spent more than enough time staring at dicks today, thank you very much,” he says.

“I thought you’d like my dick more,” Steve says.

“I do, but there’s only so much one man can take,” he says with a laugh. “I just wanted to kiss on ya a little, but if that’s an imposition—“

“It’s not,” Steve interrupts.

“Good,” Bucky says, and keeps on kissing Steve while Steve finishes washing his plate and silverware up, then setting them out to dry. “You done?” Bucky asks.

“Are you?” Steve asks.

“Let’s go to the couch,” Bucky says.

Bucky makes a detour to stop and grab the garlic breadsticks and a couple of root beers for the two of them, which he leaves on the coffee table before flopping onto the couch next to Steve. He immediately lays down, head on Steve’s lap, and shuts his eyes.

Bucky is so tactile. He’s always touching Steve, whether it’s plastering himself against him like he did in the kitchen, laying on him like he is now, or even just wrapping an arm around Steve’s shoulders while they walk from Sergeant Ink to Steve’s office. Steve’s always been a little more withdrawn. When he was younger, it was because he was prickly, didn’t like being touched because oftentimes touches were either patronizing or violent. Now, it’s because he’s just awkward, never really learning what it was like to want to touch someone. But with Bucky, it’s different. Bucky draws this touchy-feely side out of him in a way that’s almost startling. He thought he would feel claustrophobic with someone glomming onto him the way that Bucky does, but he doesn’t. He just feels loved.

Steve threads a few fingers through Bucky’s long hair and combs through it. Bucky sighs and smiles. “Had to cancel my last appointment because of the magnificent penis,” he says.

“Uh-huh,” Steve says.

“Grateful to be home,” he adds.

“So’m I,” Steve says, smiling down at Bucky.

Because this is their home, which they’ve made for themselves. Steve wouldn’t want to beanywhere else.

— —

Bucky is good with numbers; Steve is not.

Steve is not above using Bucky’s ability with numbers to his own advantage.

“Stop lookin’ at me,” Bucky says.

“I’m not looking at you,” Steve says from behind his desk. Bucky’s on the other side of his office, hair pulled back and wearing his glasses as he does some accounting work for Steve. He looks really good. “And it’s not my fault that you look really good when you’re being a nerd.”

“You’re the nerd,” Bucky mutters as he writes a few things down with his Dixon Ticonderoga #2 pencil. He bites on the eraser for a second. “Everything’s checkin’ out, just so you know.”

“So you’ve been able to hide my embezzlement scheme?” Steve asks.

Bucky rolls his eyes. “You and I both know you’re not nearly cool enough to embezzle money.”

“I’m plenty cool enough!”

“Then you’re not good enough with numbers.”

Steve sighs. “You may have a point there.”

Bucky laughs, then rubs the back of his neck. “Think I’m about done,” he says.

“Thanks again,” Steve says, smiling and definitely not acting disappointed that Bucky will be leaving soon.

“But if you want I can stay here and look pretty for another hour or so.”

“Would you?” Steve asks, perking up.

“Because I know you’re not cool enough to fuck in your office, so that’s all I can think of.”

“I am…” Steve starts, indignant. Then he pauses and sighs. “I’m definitely not cool enough to fuck in my office.”

“Told you—“

“Only because everything shows stains easily,” Steve adds.

Bucky looks at him, incredulous. “You’re nasty. I changed my mind. I’m going home.”

“No!” Steve says, starting to laugh.

Bucky sighs. “Fine, but you’re a nasty, nasty man.”

“I thought you liked that,” Steve says.

“ _Nasty_.”

— —

Steve wants to marry Bucky.

Bucky wants to marry Steve.

They’ve talked about it before, and talked about it often. The problem is, they don’t necessarily agree on _how_ they should get married, and every time one of them brings it up, it turns into a bit of a kerfuffle. Steve’s tried to tamper down on the conversation for a while, but every so often Bucky will bring it up and it’ll turn into a thing.

“We’re like _Annie Get Your Gun_ ,” Bucky says.

“We’re like what?” Steve asks.

They’re out at an Italian place that’s a little dim and has red checkered tablecloths. It’s not Steve’s favorite, but Bucky loves it for some reason, and Steve’s happy to go if Bucky’s happy. And Bucky is, happily slurping up a big plate of fettuccini alfredo as he gives Steve shit about their wedding that’s apparently never going to happen.

“You gotta study up on your musical theater references if you wanna be my man,” Bucky says.

“I _am_ your man,” Steve says. “I don’t see what musical theater has to do with that.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Musical theater is great,” he says. “And if you knew anythin’ about musicals, you’d know that there’s a whole song in _Annie Get Your Gun_ where they’re fightin’ about whether to have a big weddin’ or a small one. It’s appropriate.”

“Oddly so,” Steve says, picking at his eggplant parm. It’s lukewarm and a little gummy.

“Anyhow, I should make you watch _Annie Get Your Gun_.”

“You’d think that out of the two of us, the one who would be interested in old time musical theater would be me,” he says.

“It’s wrong to stereotype,” Bucky says, solemn, before slurping up more pasta. “And both of us have tattoos.”

“Only one of us has nipple piercings,” Steve says.

Bucky raises his eyebrows and grins, a little piece of noodle still sticking out of his mouth. “For now,” he says.

Steve laughs, then puts his fork down at the side of his plate. “Can we get milkshakes on the way home?” Steve asks.

“No,” Bucky says.

Steve slumps. “Oh,” he says, picking up his fork and poking a little more at his eggplant parm.

“Jesus, don’t look at me like that, I was just bein’ contrary for the sake of bein’ contrary. Tryin' to be cute and whatever. I’ll get you all the milkshakes in the world, you magnificent bastard.”

“No, no, it’s okay,” Steve says, ever the martyr.

Bucky kicks at Steve’s shin underneath the table. “Hey!” Steve says, a little too loudly. A woman from a nearby table gives him a glare. Steve glares right back. Bucky snorts, then rubs his leg up against Steve’s as an apology.

“We’ll go out of our way to go to the one ice cream parlor you like, okay? Nothin’ but the best for you.”

“Dairy Queen is fine,” Steve says, feeling a little silly. He knows that this isn’t about milkshakes.

“Hey, hey,” Bucky says, “what is it?”

“I wanna marry you,” Steve says.

Bucky smiles. “I know. I wanna marry you, too.”

“I just don’t understand why we can’t come to an agreement on all this.”

“Because if we get married in a courthouse and then eat pizza after, my mom will never stop cryin’,” Bucky says. He sets his fork down, then reaches over and takes Steve's hand. That same woman from earlier glares at them again, and Steve has just enough energy to square his shoulders and glare at _her_ again, which sends her back to her mediocre plate of spaghetti and meatballs. Meanwhile, Bucky looks at Steve with those big, blue, understanding eyes that Steve loves. “It’s a once in a lifetime sorta thing, Steve. I know you’re sick of big weddings so I’m willin’ to compromise to an extent, but I also don’t wanna spend the rest of my life thinkin’ about a weddin’ I didn’t get to have.”

Steve sighs. “I know,” he says, quiet. “But we don’t have the same kind of family.” He pauses, sighs. “I don’t have _any_ family.” Steve’s family consists of him, an estranged grandmother who lives somewhere on the West Coast, and a few distant Irish cousins Steve met once when he was studying abroad as an undergraduate. “We couldn’t get married on a boat — the ship would capsize since your side would be so much heavier.”

Bucky looks at him, mouth agape. “What?” he asks. “That’s…” He trails off, then sighs. “We’re not gonna get married on a boat anyway, because I don’t wanna throw up through my vows.” Steve chuckles. Bucky squeezes his hand. “Hey, there’s that smile.”

“Stop,” Steve says, smiling.

“I missed it,” Bucky says, grinning. “Do it again.”

“We could do a destination wedding,” Steve suggests. “Something special but not over the top.”

“Nana Barnes isn’t gonna make it to Hawaii,” Bucky says. “She’ll barely make it to New York. That is, unless your idea of a destination is Indianapolis, because then we’re set, and we can book a location tomorrow.”

“I have to say I’m not too keen on getting married in Indiana for a lot of reasons,” Steve says.

“That’s fair,” Bucky says. He sighs. “We’ll figure it out,” he says. “We’ve got all the time in the world.”

“Promise?” Steve asks.

Bucky nods. “You know I’m not goin’ anywhere, and I know you aren’t. We’ll just wait a little longer until we can find an idea that works for us.”

“And for Nana Barnes,” Steve says, because he’s not an asshole.

Bucky nods. “And for Nana Barnes. She just wants to see me get gay married because she couldn’t back in the forties.”

“She’s gay?” Steve asks.

“Last I talked to her she identifies as pan, but was madly in love with a French girl she met at Mount Holyoke back when she was in school.” Steve stares at him. “I’m not jokin’,” Bucky says. “She was my biggest influence. I gave her a tattoo a couple years back, too.”

“You make me want to meet her,” Steve says.

“You will at our weddin’,” Bucky says, grinning.

— —

They get milkshakes on the way home from that place Steve likes. Bucky wraps an arm around Steve’s shoulders and talks about all of the good things that the future holds for the two of them, but Steve is quieter than usual. He just has a lot to think about.

— —

Steve is in a funk the next day, and he knows he shouldn’t be. That doesn’t change the fact that he is.

He keeps the ring he wants to propose to Bucky with in his desk drawer at work. He takes the black velvet box out halfway through the day, flips it open and looks at the band. It’s silver and Steve had the inside engraved with different flowers, the same ones Bucky tattooed on his back after they first met. Since then, Bucky’s gotten a few of the same ones on his back. It was a surprise to Steve, who hadn’t known Bucky was even getting another tattoo, let alone one that was so meaningful to the two of them. Bucky had gotten home later that day and asked Steve to help take off the bandage and ice it.

When Steve saw it, he started crying.

When they get married, Steve wants bouquets of those flowers all over the room, handed to each guest, sprinkled over the honeymoon suite. When they get married, he wants the two of them to be surrounded by flowers.

He and Bucky have pledged themselves to each other in so many ways, and Steve wants to be with him forever. There should be some point of compromise here; Steve just can’t find it in himself to make it, though. He knows that not being married doesn’t bother Bucky as much as it bothers him. Maybe it’s because he’s surrounded by marriage all day, every day. Or maybe it’s because he’s still not sure why Bucky even wants to be with him when he could choose someone so much better.

Steve shuts his eyes and holds the ring tight as he blinks back tears. He’s got a couple coming in soon for their first meeting. The last thing they’ll want to see is a lovesick wedding planner who is afraid of losing his boyfriend over the size of their wedding ceremony. They want to see someone who is competent and impartial, with perfect taste in linens and the recent trends, and who doesn’t have much of a life beyond the happiness he must feel for every couple who walks through the door.

And he’s a professional, so he pulls himself together. So by the time that the couple gets there, he’s his usual smiling self, telling them all about the fantastic ideas he has for their ceremony in June.

— —

“Can you order the tickets online?” Bucky asks, walking from the bedroom to the bathroom in just a pair of boxer-briefs. When they’re home, Bucky doesn’t spend a whole lot of time fully clothed.

Steve groans. “The movie’s been out for three weeks. Do you really think it’s going to be sold out?” he asks.

“It’s one of those reserved seats places and I don’t wanna get stuck in the front row!” Bucky says from the bathroom. Moments later, Steve hears the shower start running.

“I don’t have my phone!” Steve yells.

“Use my laptop, it’s on the desk!” Bucky says. Steve hears the shower door close, then sighs. He heaves himself out of bed and walks across the room to Bucky’s desk. He plops down in Bucky’s desk chair and opens up the laptop, ready to get to Fandango when he sees what’s already up in Bucky’s browser.

“Wedding shit” is the name of the Pinterest board, and there are dozens of articles, craft ideas, and pictures of wedding inspiration. Steve is familiar with Pinterest — he doesn’t have one himself because he finds the platform cumbersome, but most of the couples he meets with have Pinterest boards with their wedding ideas. Steve will keep an eye on those boards to see if there’s any particular themes that he can pick out from what they’ve saved, or if there are any ideas actually worth pursuing in them.

He didn’t know Bucky kept one.

He scrolls for a few seconds, eyes stopping on a Dear Prudence article from a few days ago that’s one of the more recent pins. It seems a little out of place, so he clicks it, and starts to read:

_Dear Prudence,_

_My boyfriend and I have been together several years and love each other. I want to get engaged and married more than anything, but we’ve been disagreeing about the size of the wedding (I want big, he wants small) and decided to hold off on the engagement until we figure that out. But lately, my boyfriend has shut down every time we talk about it in any respect. I’m beginning to think that he wants a small wedding because he wants to hide our relationship because he’s embarrassed of me, or because he’ll want to get out of it in a few years. We have very different professions and backgrounds. It hasn’t been an issue since we started dating, but I’m beginning to think that he’s embarrassed of me, and that I’m not good enough for him to marry. We love each other, and he’s it for me. I just don’t know how to tell if I’m it for him._

It’s anonymous, but Steve has an idea of who may have sent it.

Steve wipes at his eye and closes the window without bothering to read Prudence’s response. He doesn’t care what Prudence thinks or any of the commenters, only that Bucky thinks that Steve doesn’t want to be with him forever when he does. He really, really does.

Steve should’ve known better about all of this. He should’ve known that not being married hurts Bucky as much as it hurts him. He should’ve known that Bucky has the same insecurities that he does about being together. And both of them should’ve stopped wasting time, and started making plans. Steve knows what he has to do now.

Moments later, Steve hears the shower door slam shut and Bucky’s voice yelling, “Don’t go to the computer!” He comes running out of the bathroom seconds later, dripping wet as he wraps a white towel around his waist. He sees Steve at the computer and groans. “Fuck,” he says.

“You have a Pinterest board?” Steve asks, voice level.

Bucky sighs. “It’s… I just see things sometimes and add ‘em in there, it’s no big… You shouldn’t think that it’s a big deal, it’s nothin’, I swear, it’s—“

“You’ve got some good ideas in here,” Steve says with a smile. “I haven’t seen the thing with the balloons before.”

“It’s fun, not too serious,” Bucky says, ignoring Steve and swallowing hard. “Steve, I didn’t mean for you to see all that.”

“Why not?” Steve asks.

“They’re just for me,” he says, then sighs. “I don’t want you to think I’m pressurin’ you or anythin’, or that I’m not… I’m thinkin’ of ways to compromise, and—“

“I think we should get married this fall,” Steve says.

“What?” Bucky asks.

“I think… the ring! I have a ring for you, but it’s in my office. I can go get it, or—“

“Slow down,” Bucky says, eyes wide. “What’re you doin’?”

“I’m proposing,” Steve says.

Bucky shakes his head. “Steve no,” he says. “I’m not wearin’ pants.”

Steve nods. “Do you want to put on some pants?” he asks.

“I want you to think this through!” Bucky says, but he’s smiling. “You never think things through!”

“Believe me, I’ve done nothing but think about this since the day we met.” He stands up from Bucky’s desk chair and takes a step closer to Bucky. “You’re my everything, and if you want the wedding of the century, I’ll plan it for you. I don’t want to waste any more time thinking that I need anything else out of this ceremony besides you standing beside me. It doesn’t matter the size of the room we’re in or how many people are there. I’ll make it happen.”

Bucky blinks a few times, and it takes Steve a second to realize that the droplets on his cheeks aren’t from the shower. “Steve,” he says, voice cracking.

“I’m doing this all wrong,” Steve says, suddenly starting to laugh. “Jeez, I’m sorry. I’m doing this all wrong.”

“You’re not doin’ anythin’ wrong,” Bucky says, quiet.

“Can you… maybe gimme until this evening? I can do this right; I can make _plans_. Hell, I _had_ plans. I just didn’t expect to do this right now.”

“You don’t have to do anythin’, Steve,” Bucky says.

Steve shakes his head and crosses the room. He wraps an arm around Bucky and pulls him into a kiss. Bucky is stiff at first, but loosens up and kisses him back after a long moment. Steve doesn’t want to stop, but he pulls away, knowing time is limited, and rubs a hand along Bucky’s bare, wet back. “This evening,” he says.

“Does this mean we’re not goin’ to the movie?” Bucky asks.

“We’ll go tomorrow,” Steve promises.

“Okay, but if I see any spoilers, I’m blamin’ you,” he says, then starts to laugh again. “I guess you’re gonna want me outta your hair?” he asks.

“Never,” Steve says, running a hand through Bucky’s wet hair. He smiles. “But maybe you should call Natasha and see if she needs help in the shop this afternoon.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “You’re telling me to forgo a day of leisure with my boyfriend just so he can propose to me this evening? Ridiculous.”

“I’ll make it worth it,” Steve says.

Bucky looks up at Steve with those wet, blue eyes and smiles. “I believe you.”

— —

Steve almost doesn’t pull it together.

He calls in just about every favor he has to get things ready, but it’s worth it when Bucky walks into the restaurant and his face lights up. “Steve?” he asks, quiet.

They’re in Bucky’s favorite restaurant, a nice, dark place with a long mahogany bar. Steve is in front of that bar, now lined with candles and bouquets of flowers. Billie Holliday — Bucky’s favorite — plays softly in the background. “Hey Buck,” Steve says quietly before going down on one knee.

Bucky bites down on his bottom lip for a long second, then wipes at his eye. “Hey Steve, whatcha doin’ down there?” he asks. Steve can hear Sam chuckle from where he — and most of their other friends — stand at the side of the room.

Steve pulls the small, black velvet box out of his tuxedo pocket. Fumbling for a moment, he opens it, then presents it to Bucky. “You’re my everything,” Steve says. “I fell in love with you the day we met, and I’ve never looked back. You made me believe in happy endings, and to want one of my own. Marry me,” Steve says, “and let’s live happily ever after.”

A tear slips down Bucky’s cheek. “Take you all day to think of that?” he asks.

“Been thinking about it since I met you,” Steve says.

“Well then,” Bucky responds, taking a few steps closer to Steve, then getting down onto his knees. He rummages around the pocket of his leather jacket and pulls out a small, velvet bag. It takes him a few seconds to open it up with his shaking fingers, then dumps a gold ring out onto his palm. “I’m not gonna waste time sayin’ the same shit you just said, but it’s the same for me, Steve,” he says, looking up at Steve with watery eyes. “I was a sad sap and didn’t even know it ‘till we met. Thanks for everythin’. I love you. Let’s get married.”

Steve nods, crying now. “Let’s,” he says.

Bucky takes the velvet box from Steve with one hand and holds his ring out to Steve with the other. Steve takes the ring from Bucky and slips it onto his finger as Bucky does the same. Then Steve can’t take it anymore — he has to touch Bucky. He closes the space between them and wraps his arms around his Bucky, his friend, his _fiancé_ , as their friends clap and cheer around them.

“I love you,” Bucky says again, whispering in Steve’s ear. “Thank you.”

Steve holds on as tight as he can.

“Let’s have a wedding that makes even the monarchy jealous,” he says.

Bucky grins and laughs and their friends begin to descend on them with good wishes and hugs.

As they get up and go to greet everyone, Steve just looks at Bucky, his grin, the way that his eyes shine as he shows Natasha his ring.

He’ll give Bucky his fairy tale wedding, and then Bucky will give Steve his fairy tale ending.

And they’ll both live happily ever after.

— —

_The End_

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this fic, please reblog [this Tumblr post](http://whtaft.tumblr.com/post/161039810169/the-happily-ever-after-business-by-mambo-after) and consider giving me a follow at [whtaft](whtaft.tumblr.com)


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